


His Cobalt Soul

by doubtfulbones



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtfulbones/pseuds/doubtfulbones
Summary: Keith doesn't think he's alone in his new house, but for Lance, it's been a long time since he's had visitors.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this anon](https://doubtfulbones.tumblr.com/post/169668569503/im-making-this-anonymous-cause-people-might-judge) when i asked for ideas on what i could do when i reached 1000 followers, so thank you so much!

Keith hadn't relocated for a long time, and packing was deemed such a chore.

Being independent had been a perk ever since he spent a lot of time away from home to study and discover the rest of his personality, so finally purchasing his very own place was important and a privilege his parents thought he'd never receive. After losing his mother, his father seemed like the only one with common sense in his household, and that certainly was something, because Keith knew he was intelligent; he just had to prove it.

So, after three years of university and living in a crappy apartment next to the campus, he passed biochemistry with flying colours, but unfortunately landed with a job at a nightclub, serving drinks and occasionally taking the role of security, wishing he could be earning more than just useless tips that were thrown at him and measly drinks that were 'provided' because  _"Oh my God, you look so cold out here, have some of my tequila!"_

With a yawn, Keith stepped out of his car and looked up at his house with a frown. The scent of ashes flooded his nostrils, but it didn't seem to bother him. He realised that there was plenty more to worry about once he stepped inside, and whether it was going to be unfurnished or not. He also had to pick up his motorbike from a nearby garage, but that was a task that could be done tomorrow. It was almost six o'clock in the evening and not only was Keith exhausted, but his stomach was growling like an untamed lion and he needed something to satisfy it.

Taking out his phone, Keith approached the door and dialled Shiro's number. Being his brother figure was important—Shiro was looking forward to this ever since Keith brought it up, and even if Keith thought the support was a little over-the-top, he appreciated Shiro being there, even when he lost all of his money due to a false investment and couldn't have it refunded.

"Are you there already?" Shiro asked, as Keith jammed the key into the lock and twisted it. "I'm impressed, you must've been waiting for years."

"Yeah," Keith sighed, pushing the door open.

The first thing he noted was the bitter cold.

It was open-plan, just how Keith expected it, and he put his phone on speaker before placing it on the coffee table in the living room. It was spacious. He could hear his breathing echoing around the vast walls and staircase, covered in plush, cream carpet. The hardwood floor beneath his feet looked ravishing, and although Keith wanted to relax imminently, he had to control the horrible cold seeping into his skin. While he spoke to Shiro, he picked up the booklet resting idly upon the table, and sat on the couch.

"So I'm guessing you're gonna unpack soon?" Shiro asked. "That's going to be hard, are you sure you don't need help?"

Keith thought about the plentiful amount of boxes stacked in the boot of his car. "No, I'll be okay, I think."

"If you say so." Shiro yawned. "How are you for food? Is there a grocery store nearby?"

"Yeah," Keith's eyes skimmed over the text, until  _past residents_ flew past. He decided to let his curiosity absorb him for just a few minutes more. "Hey, uh, do you think the people who lived here in the past were respectful? To the house, I mean?"

"I think you'd find out," Shiro laughed. "Have you done a full check before settling, or are you on the couch?"

Keith gave a resigned sigh. "I'm on the couch."

"Keith."

"I know," Keith rolled his eyes. "I mean, it's nice, it's cosy, but I have to find my bedroom and sort out the heat, because it's freezing in here."

Keith used Shiro's voice as background noise as he read over the context of his new house, simultaneously walking around to get familiar with his surroundings. He yanked off plastic sheets from pieces of furniture, explored his master bedroom, checked that the water was running, and halted as soon as he finished. His gaze laid upon a highlighted name, destroyed with scribbles, in the book.

"Do you think they'd hide anything?" Keith asked, interrupting Shiro.

"Who?" Shiro asked.

Keith brushed the dust from the banister as he walked down the stairs. He took a right and wandered into the kitchen, shoes still on his feet, and attempted to turn on the appliances.

The kitchen felt different to everywhere else.

His master bedroom was spacious and cold, which was expected, and Keith had placed all of his personal items in there already. The bed was comfortable. The closet was large, perhaps  _too_ large for just him. The bathroom was beautifully decorated and clean, smelling like citrus from the freshener the estate agent placed in there. The house was elegant and Keith adored it, but his attitude changed as soon as he saw the kitchen.

"The people here previously," Keith murmured, briskly rubbing his arm to circulate warmth. The scent from before was returning, only stronger this time.

"I wouldn't know," Shiro replied.

To any passing eye the kitchen appeared normal. Microwave, oven, marble counters, even an island table. The fridge was comfortingly big. However, Keith was stood there, feeling goosebumps grow on his pale skin. There was  _warmth_ here and he knew it. Shiro called Keith's name in question, wondering if he'd forgotten to reply. He began testing each appliance, flicking on switches and slotting plugs into sockets.

The wallpaper had been replaced. It seemed newer than the rest of the paint and decorations around the house, Keith thought. The scent of fire was sickening now.

"Something's wrong." Keith muttered, lingering around the oven.

"Wrong?" Shiro snorted. "It's a new house, Keith."

"But the counters just seem off," Keith replied. "In the kitchen, I mean. They're blackened a little bit."

Keith smeared his finger over the side of the oven, and looked at the tar on his fingertip. He frowned. There should have been some sort of quality check before he bought the house, surely? With an exasperated, tired sigh, Keith sauntered back into the living room and wiped his dirty finger on his jeans. At least he knew where the smell was coming from, even if he wasn't overjoyed about it.

"I think there was soot on the oven," Keith explained, grabbing the remote for the television. "From a fire?"

"A fire." Shiro hummed. "Does the booklet say anything?"

"No," Keith replied. "Which sucks."

He swung his legs up onto the couch and kicked off his shoes, finally sinking into the comfort of his new house but dreading all the unpacking that was due the next day. The silence of his new home was comforting, and as much as he enjoyed having Shiro for company, his stomach was empty and Keith could have eaten anything in the time he'd wasted exploring the house.

"I'm going to see if there's a food place nearby," Keith yawned. "I haven't done my grocery shopping, it's way too late."

"Lazy." Shiro scoffed. "I'll speak to you soon."

"Bye."

With another yawn, Keith put his phone on the arm of the couch and folded his arms in an attempt to will his hunger away. The house had been exciting for a minute, and now he felt weighted with the idea of tomorrow, hauling boxes inside, going grocery shopping, and figuring out where to get to his job from where his house was.

Whatever, that was a chore for tomorrow.

* * *

"I can't," Keith huffed down the phone, swallowing a mouthful of pizza. "I just moved in, you can't expect me to work tomorrow. I'm sorry, it's just impossible."

Even though Keith needed the extra money, it seemed incredibly unrealistic that the nightclub would've wanted him imminently. And, he still had plenty of unpacking to do, so going  _anywhere_ apart from the grocery store was completely out of the question.

He rolled his eyes as his boss gave him a firm verbal reprimand down the phone, before finally, he hung up, and Keith wiped his mouth with a napkin. After tossing the empty box back in the trash he walked into the kitchen to check if the temperature seemed different.

He remained there, his arms folded, incredibly dubious. He waited, staring at the blackened wall behind the oven, and walked out of the kitchen. As he walked, however, he felt a crawling sensation all over him, but that disappeared as quickly as it came once he walked out the front door.

Clothes first, he decided, and so Keith reached into his car, shivering in the freezing night. He couldn't sleep in his clothes after travelling for so long. It felt disgusting, especially when he wore jeans that had been smeared in alcohol tossed over him from a couple of nights before. Keith grimaced and walked back inside.

It was that same feeling again as he walked up the stairs. It felt like a pair of eyes digging into his skin, a glare piercing and purposeful, never leaving Keith be. He paused, one foot on the next stair, and looked behind him. He shook his head and kept going. Keith never saw himself as paranoid, and blamed it on how tired he felt. The heating had kicked in and Keith felt comfortable again as he entered his bedroom.

He sifted through the clothes in the box, wishing he had more money to buy better clothes, realising his fashion sense was in need of a revamp due to the presence of dark colours. Burgundy. Crimson. Black. Grey. Deep blue. He never wore anything else. The closet, previously bare, was now stocked with his entire wardrobe, and Keith stood back to observe his finished work. He kicked the box to the side.

_"Pretty neat."_

Keith froze in place.

He was  _very_ sure he didn't talk to himself, except from the time he filled his loneliness with imaginary friends, so either they were coming back to haunt him, or his brain was manifesting voices that weren't there. So, he closed the closet and turned off the lamp on his nightstand, tugging off his clothes to get ready for bed.

_"Not talkative, huh."_

Keith sat on the bed, body twisting around to find the source of the voice, simultaneously shoving his sweater in his lap to save his dignity, just in case there was someone who  _obviously_ forgot that Keith was living there now. His heart raced in slight panic, but he'd adapted to hearing bumps in the night, so Keith snaked his hand into the drawer and clutched the handle of the dagger that laid within.

"Uh," Keith began. "H-Hello—?"

 _"Oh my God,"_ the voice chuckled.  _"Aren't you a little creeped out!"_

From then on, Keith felt both confused and violated. He thought his lonely home was private to him only, and now it seemed as if he had a roommate. An invisible one, who was  _mocking_ him.

Keith would have stayed calm and attempted to crawl into bed if the mattress didn't just sink beside him, as if a weight had been placed; he looked down, eyes wide and slightly terrified, glaring at the two imprints on the sheets. Like legs, Keith thought. Someone was sat beside him. He could feel that strange, uncomfortable warmth again.

Keith squeaked. "H-Hey—?" 

"Your hair is a mess," the voice snorted. "The eighties called, they want their mullet back."

"Uh," Keith coughed. "Okay, sorry, what's—"

"Sorry, my man," the other replied. "You got a house that's haunted. Name's Lance, and I'll be your ghost this evening."

Ghost.

There was a ghost in Keith's house.

And although Keith would have preferred a ghost over an actual human being, he was exhausted, and this was far too much to comprehend on just four hours sleep and only a pizza to keep him through the day. He would have passed it off as a hallucination, but the presence just felt too real. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Um," Keith sighed, covering his mouth to yawn. "Okay."

"And your name is Keith and you wear Calvin Klein underwear," Lance replied. Keith could almost hear the smirk, and soon after glanced down at the waistband of his underwear. "I know that because I heard that other guy say your name. The one you were on the phone with."

"So you're a ghost that doesn't respect privacy," Keith murmured, slowly tugging his sweater over his underwear. "Nice."

"Actually, I—"

"And why couldn't you tell me this as soon as I entered this fucking place?" Keith groaned, already feeling his head pound. "Fuck, Lance, or whatever you are."

"I'm offended, personally," Lance scoffed. "And I couldn't! It's— It's like a weird energy thing, okay? Just be thankful I'm not making your walls bleed or, or, o-or smashing your cutlery or possessing you or..."

Keith sighed heavily. He had so many questions that he was too exhausted to ask, and he doubted the fact that Lance would give answers straight away.

"I'm sorry," Lance murmured, his voice sounding distant. "It's just a reminder that I'm here and you're free to go if you don't want it."

Upon closer inspection, Keith could see the fabric of the air wavering, just like a heat-wave, rippling in front of him, almost taking form. 

"What?" Lance muttered. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Keith sighed. "Will you let me go to sleep now?"

"Yep!"

And that, quite abruptly, was that.

The room dropped in temperature, and Keith crawled underneath the covers in silence.  At least he had a reason for feeling so paranoid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith had to fill his house empty house with food. Lance has separation issues.

Keith slowly opened his eyes and grunted in disgust at the light pouring into them, before checking the time on his phone. The screen blinded him almost as much as the morning sun did.

Ten o'clock. He grimaced for letting himself sleep for so long, but he cancelled his shift for the night, so at least he had a reason for his good night's sleep. Despite all the grogginess and the hunger pangs cramping his stomach, Keith made the effort to haul himself out of bed, pull on some sweatpants, and finally make his way downstairs. Pulling on a shirt seemed too much effort.

He attempted to recollect his thoughts after yesterday. There were still boxes left in his car that he had to drag into his house, and once he opened the fridge in the kitchen, he whined, loudly, hearing his irritating groan echo around the empty house. Grocery shopping was never Keith's favourite. All he wanted was breakfast. He held the fridge door open for a little while longer, lingering around to think, until it slammed shut against Keith's will and left him shivering in the sudden cold draught.

It took some time before Keith was aware of his situation, and the fact that his house was occupied. His hand was still raised from holding the handle as he slowly turned around and watched the television switch from channel to channel by itself.

"Good morning," the occupant of Keith's house hummed. His eyes laid upon the sunken weight in the couch. Lance had truly made himself at home, Keith thought. 

"You're still here?" Keith yawned, running a hand through his tousled hair. He fished out a hair band from his pocket and used it to throw his bedhead into a ponytail. "Could you leave my TV alone?"

"It's  _my_ TV, actually," Lance snorted. "And yes, I'm still here, would I be somewhere else if I died in this house? I don't think so!"

Keith sighed, watching the weight imprint shift to the far side of the couch, and sitting beside the spirit that had claimed him. Although Keith was a fan of the supernatural and anything beyond human control, he knew spirits could be troublesome and incredibly irritating, so he treated it like any kind of normal human being; except for the part that he couldn't see Lance, but he could feel his uncomfortable lukewarm aura touching him.

"Dead, huh," Keith quickly snatched the remote before Lance could mess with it. The invisible weight lifted. "So where were you when I was asleep?"

"I was watching you sleep at the end of your bed." Lance said flatly, his voice floating around Keith as he roamed the living room. Keith frowned.

"That's stalking," Keith said to nothing in particular. "You're not supposed to— _hey!"_

The spirit chuckled deviously behind him after flicking his ponytail.

"Don't take me seriously, jeez," Lance sighed. "I was just hangin' out in the void."

Keith had to look past his jokes and actually consider how Lance came around, and although he was hungry and wanted to find somewhere to eat as well as something to fill his cupboards with, he realised Lance must've hung around an empty house for a while, and he was excited about company.

"So," Keith crossed his legs. "You're a spirit, obviously, but how?"

"Fire," Lance murmured. "Can't you smell it? Isn't my name in the booklet you had?"

Keith reached for the booklet on the coffee table with a slight huff. Not only was this spirit a little irritating, but he was demanding, too. Though, as their conversation continued, Keith could hear the exhaustion in his tone, and wondered if he could stay around for any longer. However, ever since Lance introduced how he passed on, Keith finally had an explanation for his filthy, soot-scented kitchen.

He flicked to the page containing the past residents and pointed to the name that had been scratched out by black pen. He felt Lance huff in fury, and it was incredibly lifelike.

"I'm guessing your name is this one?" Keith suggested, and then the booklet flew out of his hand and was slammed to the floor. "Careful!"

Keith rolled his eyes and groaned, already feeling the fury of the spirit surround him, before vanishing completely. He sat back and looked around the room, wondering where Lance could've disappeared off to. He still had many questions left unanswered, but he decided not to pry, and instead go upstairs to take a shower. The questions could manifest in his head instead.

He just had to make a list and eventually go grocery shopping like a proper adult would. Shiro would be so proud, Keith snorted.

After closing his bedroom door, Keith kicked off his sweatpants and underwear, feeling quite content and productive, until he heard his bed creak.

He twisted his body around, keeping his clothes held over his groin, eyes narrowing in suspicion, until his gaze finally laid upon the slight ripple in the air that caused his headboard to morph. Keith sighed heavily, knowing the spirit was mischievously grinning at him. He could almost  _feel_ it.

"I'm uh," Keith muttered. "I'm gonna take a shower, so privacy would be great."

Lance whined, his voice tinny and irritating. "You're boring."

"I'm also filthy," Keith replied, quickly snatching a towel from the cupboard, his back facing Lance. "So—"

"Ooh," Lance laughed, and Keith could suddenly feel the temperature rising, making the skin on the back of his neck crawl. "Filthy? How filthy, Keith? I think someone  _dirty_ might've finally been dragged into my house."

Keith rolled his eyes. "My house."

"Mine," Lance scoffed. "I died in it."

"Well I bought it," Keith turned on the faucet and quickly dragged the curtain back. "So technically, you're mine now."

By the way Lance cackled outside the bathroom, Keith immediately knew that the sentence had come out of his mouth wrong. And now his cheeks were scarlet for it; he'd never really thought about having a relationship before. He'd never had one. He just wasn't good with people.

"Awwh, Keith," Lance cooed. "How sweet of you."

"Not like that," Keith replied. "Are you in here right now?"

Silence. The bathroom felt lonely again.

* * *

Grocery shopping didn't seem much of a chore after Keith towel-dried his hair, grabbed his car keys, and walked downstairs. He made a list in his head, thinking about items he didn't need and compared them to necessities, before he unlocked the front door and yanked it open.

"Where are you going?" 

Keith turned around, his gaze swivelling everywhere. "Grocery shopping, want anything?"

It came out as a joke, but he must've sounded serious, because Lance responded, "cinnamon rolls."

With a small eye-roll, Keith closed the door behind him and got into his car. He didn't know how he was going to explain the spirit currently residing in his house, but he knew his friends and coworkers were going to hear about it soon. He just couldn't invite anybody over for a while, and of course, never introduce mediums or ghost hunters or even Ouija boards.

Keith pulled on his Ray-Ban spectacles and snorted. It just reminded him of being a teenager and attempting to summon demons in his small house. He realised he'd just closed the door on Lance, but he knew that lonely spirit was bound to find some entertainment, so he carelessly pushed that thought to the back of his mind and started the car.

Actually, he still didn't know the details of how Lance actually became who he was now. He had no idea how old he was, what he looked like, and how long he'd been 'haunting' the house. For all Keith knew, he could've existed far before he was born, and that thought alone sent horrible shivers down his spine. Keith only knew that Lance liked jokes, was a little bit of a pervert, and had a tendency to sulk when things didn't go to plan. A teenager, Keith guessed. Typical.

Luckily for Keith, the grocery store was only a short distance away, and parked his car as soon as he arrived. His bank had just been topped up from his last paycheck so he marched in confidently, tightened his ponytail, and grabbed a shopping cart from the left. Blinking wearily in the ugly supermarket lighting, he immediately began his hunt for a more sustainable diet.

He used to grocery shop for his parents just to get out of the house, so doing it for himself was no problem. He picked up fruits and vegetables with ease, as well as candy for nights when he needed some well-deserved alone time. Alcohol was a must, and although Keith didn't drink much, he enjoyed wine, and only vodka in moderation, always mixed with something.

Though, he wished he wasn't holding a bottle of it as soon as a tall auburn-haired man appeared, scooting up beside him with a grin on his face.

"Heya."

Keith lifted his head and slowly put back the bottle of vodka. Matt Holt, he thought, definitely couldn't be trusted near alcohol.

"Hey," Keith murmured. "You're happy."

"I am!" Matt laughed. "I mean, my sister just got her robotics degree, Shiro got a raise—I'm proud of a lot of people. Have you done anything?"

"I got a new house, I guess?" Keith picked up the bottle of vodka and slotted it into his cart. No talk about Lance or anything supernatural just yet.

"Awesome," Matt smiled. "Are you having a housewarming party?"

Keith actually considered the idea.

It had been a while ever since he'd had a gathering with his friends, but now that he had another occupant in his house, he wasn't so sure. However, he couldn't let that ruin all of his social events, so he nodded.

"That's a good idea," Keith replied, pushing his cart alongside Matt's. "Could you check when everyone's free? I'm just way too busy right now, you can organise a date."

"Sounds good," Matt beamed. "If you need any help settling in, Shiro and I could come over."

Keith thought about the possibility of Shiro and Matt staying over, and then politely declined, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to sleep with the amount of noise coming from the couch downstairs.

"Nah." Keith smiled awkwardly. "It's alright."

Matt left with a wave after that, and Keith continued down to the bakery and picked up a loaf of bread. Out of the corner of his eye sat bags of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls and other delights that Keith was tempted to purchase for the sake of it, so he picked up two bags, stuffed them in his cart, and finally made a break to the cashier.

Packing it all in the car beside the boxes wasn't the smartest idea, but they seemed to fit, and he carried three in each hand as soon as he arrived home.

With aching arms, he placed the final bags on the floor of the kitchen and sank back against the counter, staring at his collection of groceries as he lifted his glasses upon his head. He would have gone straight to organising himself, but the sound of dull smacking was driving him crazy. His gaze lifted. A book was being thrown and caught in the air.

"You came back," Lance murmured, his voice getting louder as he approached Keith. The book, seemingly floating in mid-air, was shoved into Keith's chest and almost knocked the wind out of his lungs.

"Ow, fuck!" Keith hissed, slamming the book on the counter. "I only went out for a little while!"

"Without any proper goodbye," Lance huffed. 

Keith searched for the presence of rippling and kept his gaze on it, hoping that he was making formidable eye contact to induce some sort of fear in the spirit.

"You didn't need to hit me with a book," he murmured.

"Sorry." Lance mumbled. "I just thought you left forever and the house got quiet."

Keith swallowed thickly, watching the ripples disappear. Guilt festered in his chest and he had no idea why, so he decided to occupy his mind by packing away the groceries to the background noise of the radio beside him. It felt a little more homely, and Keith began to hum, finishing his organisation by putting the cinnamon rolls next to the toaster.

"You got them?"

Keith raised his head to find the paper bakery bag floating. "Yeah?"

"I thought you were kidding."

"I thought  _you_ were kidding."

The bag was pried open and lifted, as if Lance was taking a deep breath to relish the scent. Keith folded his arms and put his spectacles back on his nose.

"I didn't know you wore glasses either," Lance murmured. "And they smell great, by the way, I just wanted—"

"You just wanted to get the scent back after so long?" Keith suggested. He guessed the silence was a nod. 

He stood there, watching the air in front of him waver. He didn't want Lance to feel like he was getting stared at, Keith just needed to keep track of where he was,  _if_ he was in his presence.

"I'll tell you what," Keith leaned against the counter. "What if I get some candles or something so you can hang around a little longer, to enjoy the scent, y'know?"

"You'd do that?"

Keith nodded. "It's not too much hassle if it comforts you."

The bag was put back down and the top curled over to keep them warm and fresh. Keith waited for a reply, until the room fell silent again, and he went to fetch his laptop from one of the boxes he had in the car.

"Where are you going—?"

"Just outside," Keith replied. "I'm going a couple yards out and that's it."

He couldn't understand why Lance was so desperate to have company all of a sudden, but Keith made sure he was back inside as quickly as possible, and pulled up a store for candles. By letting Lance choose, he thought he'd become friends with the spirit floating aimlessly around his home. That, and it could cover the ashy scent in his kitchen.

"Are you coming to pick one?" Keith called. "This is for you, not me. You're choosing what my house is gonna smell like."

He jumped in surprise as soon as another weight sunk beside him on the couch, clearly demonstrating how excited Lance was. It was just a candle, Keith thought, but if it made his invisible guest happy, he wasn't going to take that away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your feedback thus far! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith starts to get personal, and attempts to figure out the appearance of his apparition. Lance has a tendency for sulking.

It wasn't so bad having Lance around the house, even if it took Keith a couple of weeks to get used to him. He jumped out of his skin on occasion when Lance would frighten the living daylights out of him, but it was all in good fun, and being such a kind spirit he always apologised afterwards.

He left Keith's presence sometimes and Keith was okay with that, he was used to spending his days alone. But ever since he discovered Lance he was used to having  _company_ and occasionally called out his name if he was there or not—and that was usually replied to with a knock or a tap upon his shoulder. The candles were purchased and due to arrive soon, and Keith hoped he was satisfied with his purchase. After all, they weren't really  _his_  candles.

"Hey, are you around?" Keith called, standing in the middle of his hallway, letting his voice echo around the house. "Because I'm having a few people over, if that's okay."

A small huff emanated from behind him and flicked his ponytail. Keith knew Lance was slightly shy and he didn't know how he reacted to other people. He watched a weight sink into the couch before sitting beside it.

"What's up?" Keith asked. "Are you sulking?"

"No," Lance scoffed. He fell silent again.

Keith wasn't one to intrude, especially when he had thoughts racing in his mind too. He crossed his legs and tapped his fingers against his knee, wishing the television was on for some background noise so he didn't have to sit in such uncomfortable silence. Did Lance feel uncomfortable? Keith thought so. But then again, spirits were probably used to the silence.

Perhaps he could have his friends over for a less exciting housewarming party to prevent Lance from feeling insecure. It seemed like a better option; he just had to remind them all not to bring any alcohol.

Maybe he could tell them about Lance and his friendly personality. But that's exactly what Keith didn't know.

"How old are you?" Keith murmured.

"Uh," Lance chuckled. "I was twenty when I died, I guess? What about you?"

"Twenty-two," Keith replied. "Would that make you older, if you added on how many years you've passed?"

"No, Keith, I'm dead, time doesn't really matter any more."

Keith nodded slowly and stared at his reflection in the screen of the television. He couldn't believe the angsty attitude pouring out of Lance's aura. It was almost as uncomfortable as the strange heat surrounding Keith that had only gotten warmer each day.

"Sorry," Lance snorted. "But yeah, I guess I'm the same age forever."

"Nice," Keith shrugged. "What do you look like?"

He almost wished he hadn't asked Lance such a question, because the spirit let out a shrill giggle and picked up the television remote to fiddle with it. Keith rolled his eyes, but let Lance have his fun. He probably hadn't had this much conversation for years.

"Hm, let's see," Lance hummed. "Tall, dark, handsome, funny, I think I'm your type."

Keith cocked a brow. "Okay?"

"I'm kidding," Lance put the remote down. "I'm tall, I guess? My mother would always say I'm quite lanky, whatever that means."

He sounded deflated talking about his family, so Keith pushed on with the conversation to a different aspect of him.

"What about your hair?" Keith asked. "Probably not as unkempt as mine."

"Ah, yeah," Lance laughed. "I don't know. It's fluffy. Shorter than yours, I think. It's also brown."

"Fluffy?" Keith sat up. "Can— I can touch it, right?"

Lance fell quiet, and by the way the weight shifted, Keith guessed that he'd curled up and rested his head against the back of the couch. It wasn't too much to ask, he hoped, he just wanted to get a little more than just noise out of Lance.

And then, something took hold of his wrist, the feeling quite like skin, lukewarm and trusting, and slowly guided his hand upwards. Keith's breath hitched anxiously. He really didn't want to mess this all up and have Lance go into another sulk.

But, holy shit, Keith hadn't felt something quite as soft in all of his life. It was  _hair_ , as human as it could get, sifting through his nervous fingers as he trailed them through, feeling Lance let go. Keith gasped and a small smile curled his lips.

"It's soft," he muttered. "Really soft."

He couldn't believe it, but his heart  _fluttered._

With careful intention, Keith continued to trail his hand down until his fingers brushed past the shell of an ear, and then a jawline, and a cheek, which seemed to shift, as if the spirit was smiling. Keith slowly lifted his other hand until he was cupping Lance's cheeks, and nervously gazing at him with sheer curiosity.

"Hey," Lance whispered. "You're really warm."

"Really?" Keith murmured. "You're kinda cold."

The cheeks rounded again, and Keith's heart skipped a beat, until the spirit disappeared and his hands were cupping the air. He slowly lowered his arms and sighed, thinking about the strange connection he had with the spirit slowly becoming friends with him.

* * *

It took some time for Lance to become a nuisance, but a playful nuisance, purely for the reason that he was infatuated with Keith's speaker and genre of music and couldn't stop humming along to the gentle tune of indie music flooding his house. With his phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder, Keith walked around the kitchen carrying bottles of alcohol and placing them on his counters. He'd given in. Learning about Lance or not, his friends had to come and see him, before they thought he'd lost his mind.

Alcohol just sounded like last-minute persuasion.

"Six o'clock?" Matt hummed through the speaker, and Keith ran a hand through his hair, pulling out the band to tie it back up again.

"Yeah, I guess so," Keith replied. He looked around his house, at his stairs, at the couch in his living room. No sign of Lance. 

Keith chuckled nervously while his gaze laid upon the curtains. They'd parted in an odd manner, revealing the harsh rain outside. "I'll call you back."

It seemed as if they were draped around shoulders. A chair had been placed in front of the window, and a for a moment, Keith truly felt pity for Lance. He approached the empty chair and opened the curtains.

"What is it?" Keith asked, looking at the dreary, granite sky. "Do you want to go outside?"

"I guess so." Lance murmured.

The sound of the rain was comforting from the inside, but Keith knew Lance wanted to hang around under the clouds. He opened the window to find out what Lance wanted.

"The rain is really pretty," Lance sighed. 

"Lance?"

"Mm?"

"Can you even go outside?"

The spirit laughed quietly, and by how abruptly the raindrops fell in front of the open window, Keith assumed he'd held out his hand just to feel the droplets pitter-patter against his palm.

"I don't know." Lance murmured. "I really like storms, Keith."

"Yeah?" Keith turned back and attempted to make eye contact, but failed after forgetting that Lance  _wasn't there._ "I'm scared of them."

Lance snorted. "You are?"

"Mhm, thunder really gets me."

Keith bit his lip and furrowed his brows in pity. He really wanted Lance to become himself again, and even though it wasn't physically possible, he could perhaps make his experience suck less while the candles were on their way. He didn't know if Lance could go outside, but maybe if he stood underneath the clouds and listened to the storm, he'd feel at home again.

"Shall we go outside?" Keith murmured. "Do you want to hold onto my arm or something?"

He'd forgotten how sudden touches were when he couldn't see them, and thus flinched when Lance linked his arm with Keith's. He  _did_ seem taller, Keith thought, and part of him hated it.

"I-I'm doing this," Lance breathed. "Are you sure—"

Keith slowly opened the door and stepped outside, feeling Lance's grip tighten. He felt hesitant before he let Lance go, but suddenly, he knew all of this body movement just meant sheer excitement. It didn't rain beside Keith. It fell on Lance instead.

"It's cold," Lance gasped happily. "There are raindrops on your glasses."

Keith pouted and took his glasses off. "Do you want to explore? Just don't wander far."

"Okay," Lance breathed, and Keith could still see his ghostly silhouette as his feet kicked up puddles, never venturing past his front yard and the street his house was situated on.

For once, Keith knew Lance was happy. This was what he was used to. Despite the thunder booming overhead, Keith kept his cool and held his gaze on the quick footsteps that ran along the wet road, splashing in puddles and jumping on the spot, clearly demonstrating how happy Lance felt.

His laughter was wonderful, and Keith couldn't deny it. He pushed his spectacles back onto his nose and watched the footsteps come padding back, his chuckles still happy and free, before he linked an arm around Keith's again.

"Thank you," Lance laughed. Keith picked up a solemn tone, as if he was crying out of sheer delight. "Thank you, Keith, this really means a lot."

"It's no problem."

Even though Keith didn't feel comfortable standing in a storm, he was helping Lance out by making it feel like home again. Although, he still had that question burning inside of him, and wondered if it was too personal to ask.

"Lance?" he began, curling the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles to protect himself from the cold.

"Yeah?"

"How..." Keith swallowed thickly. "How did you die?"

There was a small silence, but Lance was still there. His hold on Keith was trusting.

"In a house fire," he murmured. "There used to be a door for the kitchen, and the oven was malfunctioning when I used it. That's why you have a new oven and no door."

"Oh," Keith looked down at his feet. "I'm—"

Keith bit his lip. His heart sank.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Should I say that? It just doesn't seem right."

Lance laughed, but it was a low, solemn laugh, and lacked life.

"It's nice that you care."

Keith opened his mouth to say more, but the spirit had wandered back inside, and he began to miss the grip of Lance's hand on his arm. He was having fun just a moment ago and Keith felt like he'd ruined it. He was about to step back inside but the sound of a car pulling up brought him out of his train of thought. Turning around, he'd forgotten that he'd organised a party.

"Hey!" a figure waved, and Keith forced a smile. Shiro. "Nice place!"

"Thanks." Keith murmured. With everything Lance had been picking up around the house, 'a draught' just wasn't a great excuse at all, and Keith thought he was an amazing liar.

He gestured to the couch and let Shiro sit down, hoping Lance would behave, but he went into the house on a melancholy note so Keith had confidence that he wouldn't reveal himself. People just didn't seem to appeal to Lance, but he was very curious about Keith.

"It smells of burning," Shiro murmured, picking up the TV remote. Keith's gaze shot to the blackened wall behind the oven.

"I-It does?" Keith cocked a brow.

"Yeah." Shiro snorted. "Did you try to bake?"

"Yep," Keith lied, laughing through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm going to order food for tonight."

He had plenty in the cupboards, but he could afford to lose some money through ordering pizza instead of revealing Lance without his permission. He had to keep his privacy safe for his sake, and his mood in a good one, because part of Keith missed him when he disappeared.

Sitting by Shiro, he took his phone out of his pocket and dialled the nearest pizza place, waiting for his other friends to arrive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith shouldn't have gotten drunk.

Keith had lost count of the glasses of alcohol he'd had, downed and burning his throat within seconds, and the shot glasses on his coffee table kept doubling. He never intended to drink, but all of a sudden he was telling his half-sober friend Pidge about her own degree, and how she was wrong, while listening to Matt snort in the background.

Keith was never the best when drunk. In fact, he was rarely drunk for this reason, and although it was almost midnight and his friends were due to go home soon, he didn't want the night to end just yet. Just thinking about going back to work made him queasy, as well as the looming dread that hung over his giddy head about paying bills and harbouring responsibilities that he couldn't remember.

He felt like he was forgetting something. One section of his brain had completely gone blank, and sometimes he forgot that it wasn't just him at home. His friends were there, too, laughing at his unkempt hair and glasses askew on his nose.

He really was drunk. Buzzing, but drunk, and he sort of wished the blood in his body was circulating to his dizzy head and not pooling in his groin. Shiro murmured something beside him but he was beyond listening at this point. Keith sat on the couch while Matt and his sister played  _Mariokart_ , staring absentmindedly at the ceiling, his vodka and coke almost spilling out of his glass held at the wrong angle.

"Keith."

He lifted his head slowly and watched the world turn. "Mm?"

"Your shift is soon," Shiro said. His tolerance was a lot higher than Keith's. "You know you're gonna have to sober up to get back to work."

Keith scoffed. "'m not going to work."

"I know," Shiro huffed. "But you are next weekend."

"Yeah?" Keith shrugged, a blissful smile stretching his lips. "A week away, it's fine, Shiro."

It was at that moment that Keith knew that he'd become so intoxicated, that it wasn't fun for Shiro any more; he enjoyed the drinks and working in a nightclub but Keith  _did_  love living life on the edge, having way too much fun, and drinking until he laughed at the most ridiculous of things, such as the small tuft of hair caught behind Matt's ear.

So he watched everyone go home, and waved them off, realising his entire house reeked of alcohol. But once he knew he was home alone, he tied his hair back up and switched off the lights, before attempting to half-ass the cleaning and humming to the music flooding his house. 

Keith couldn't remember the last time he was drunk but he couldn't believe he'd missed out for so long—he felt  _amazing_ , like he could eradicate his bills and responsibilities and still have enough money for himself, the possibilities were making him giddy and dim-witted. He realised that cleaning wasn't the best thing to do while drunk, and he'd forgotten that task altogether, because he headed upstairs and began peeling off his clothes.

Well, he would have, but the sight of his pillow floating in mid-air made him question his mental state, and whether alcohol was for the better or worse.

"Lance?" Keith drawled, running a hand through his hair. "Ngh, look, bud, I'd love to have you around and all—"

"You're drunk," Lance murmured, and Keith could almost hear his smirk as he threw his sweater to the floor. The pillow was dropped, and Keith watched the mattress dip as Lance put himself there. 

"And horny." Keith clarified, covering his mouth to hiccup. "And I'm gonna need you to leave my room, just for a little while, so I can sleep it off."

Lance gave a huff of frustration and gasped. Keith could have sworn something flashed blue out of the corner of his eye, but he was far too shitfaced to care. Once he kicked his jeans to the floor, he heard Lance groan. Needy.

"You can't sleep it off!" Lance hissed. "That's ridiculous, Keith, what are you gonna do?"

"Sleep, like I said?" Keith dropped his glasses onto his nightstand and pulled out the band in his hair, watching his spectacles clatter pathetically onto the floor. "What else would I do?"

 _"Dios mío,"_  Lance laughed, almost in pity. "Oh, Keith."

Keith raised a brow. "What?"

Honestly, Keith either skipped Lance's first phrase or he was totally clueless. He didn't know what Lance was implying, he was innocent and unknowing for the first part of his life. As he crawled into bed, he felt Lance's presence right beside him, almost too close for comfort.

"I can't believe you're just," Lance scoffed. "You're just gonna leave yourself like that. Aren't you gonna touch yourself? I'll give you space."

Keith swallowed thickly. He was never good at sorting out his own stress relief, his younger life was incredibly fast-paced and he didn't get a lot of chance to explore his body. He also didn't mind Lance being so close. He emitted some sense of warmth and comfort.

With a slight grin, Keith peeled away his boxers and winced as his dick sprung free. "What do you mean?"

Lance almost growled in discontent, making Keith smirk. His hand gently palmed the base of his cock until he felt something and from then on, he was clueless. He'd forgotten that Lance was beside him, probably watching; but with the presence of what seemed like a hand upon his thigh, Keith didn't mind.

"Can I help?" Lance murmured.

"Help?" Keith smirked. "I guess so."

And there it was, Lance's hand cupping and squeezing the base of Keith's shaft, coaxing a hitched breath out of him. He really was sensitive, even more so than he thought, and the feeling was almost strange by how a fabricated hand was  _touching_  him; it just felt real, so,  _so_  real.

Keith knew he was drunk, and he'd let the spirit in his house touch him in places even he wasn't used to, watching the glassy ripple of a hand slowly stroke him until he was practically putty in Lance's fingers.

"Fuck," Keith breathed, his fingers curling tightly within his sheets.  _"Fuck,_  God, Lance—"

Every single nerve within Keith's brain was set alight. He widened his thighs, relishing the soft, subtle rhythm of Lance's hand. He began to buck his hips into his fist and surprised himself by how great that felt, too.

"Like this?" Lance hummed. Keith nodded and bit his lip, his vision hazy, absentmindedly staring at the silhouette of a hand. "Then I'll leave you be, and you can do it yourself."

Keith's eyes flew open. "Wait, no—!"

And then he was gone, leaving Keith flustered and throbbing, but wholly turned on all the same. He was going to forget that in the morning, he was sure, but he could finish himself no problem with a pace he preferred.

He writhed on the mattress, his hand quickly stroking and tugging his cock as he moaned and cursed, his back arcing, his eyes squeezed shut. It wasn't the correct headspace for touching himself but Keith didn't care.

"A-Ah _, haah—"_

He was almost thankful for having a spirit in his house—for having  _Lance_  in his house—because he felt as if he was on cloud nine, unable to come down, because the peak wasn't so far and Keith was almost insatiable. The pleasure flooding his veins and fogging his dreary head was too deliciously good to stop.

Keith's hips clumsily fucked himself into his fist until his thighs began to tremble. The quivering moan that slipped out of his mouth was almost embarrassing as he spilled over his knuckles and coated his chest and stomach, panting and whimpering, his eyes slowly sliding shut as he entered his afterglow.

He lifted his pounding head slowly, too tired to get up to grab a tissue, too far in bliss to care.

* * *

After waking up to a clean torso and a glass of water next to his bed, Keith began to question his connection with the spirit in his house.

Either he had to confront Lance and tell him what he thought of Keith, or he was going to leave it, because he couldn't believe a  _spirit_  of all things attempted to seduce him, and he had no idea if Lance liked boys, let alone Keith in general, and now he had a headache. Taking a sip of the glass of water next to his bed, he climbed out of it and began walking down the stairs, until he heard skittering, excited footsteps pitter-patter across his hall floor.

And then the knocking came, loud and painful, echoing through his skull like a drum.

"Keith!"

Keith rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What?"

"The mail is here!" Lance chirped. "My candles might be here!"

Keith took one glance at his bare body, spat out and choked on his water, and raced upstairs to throw on some clothes, leaving the frustrated spirit call his name.

"You're gonna miss him, Keith!" Lance whined.

"I won't!" Keith rolled his eyes at his demanding tone as he dashed back downstairs, throwing his hair up into a ponytail. He answered the door with a forced smile and took the package from the man standing in front of him.

"Thanks," Keith muttered, signing the form thrown under his nose. "Have a good day."

Lance was the one who closed the door without hesitation and began to push Keith towards the living room, practically shoving him onto the couch while simultaneously trying to keep the package in one piece. Keith smirked at his eagerness.

"If only you were this eager last night," Keith murmured. Lance flopped down beside Keith, making him jump at the sudden hand on his shoulder. "Hey!"

"What d'ya mean?" Lance drawled. Keith frowned.

"Don't play dumb," he murmured, attempting to shoot an intimidating glare at the spirit, but failing when he couldn't make eye contact.

Keith ripped away the packaging tape and tore open the cardboard box before they came out, one by one, by Lance's accord. They were placed on the coffee table and turned to show the label. Raspberry and vanilla. Purple orchid. Vanilla frosting. Keith couldn't understand why one out of three wasn't a bakery scent.

"Why a floral one?" Keith asked. "Are you gonna make my house smell like a gardening store?"

"No," Lance murmured, his tone bashful. "I just like the smell."

The candle was lifted until it stilled. He held it protectively. Keith was still curious, but he decided not to pry.

"I like the colour purple." Lance added.

"Huh." Keith shrugged, lifting the candle closest to him and waving the lid under his nose. "I think I approve of your choices."

So, the orchid candle was lit, and Keith always knew when Lance stood near it because the flame would reflect off his wrist, his arm, or his hand; he was concerned about the safety and whether Lance was going to get hurt, but if he wasn't physically around and didn't actually have pain receptors any more, he considered otherwise.

It was an off day for Keith, considering his hangover, and he ate the leftover pizza in his fridge for dinner with the scent of flowers surrounding him. It wasn't hard to associate that scent with the curious spirit that hung around him when he felt lonely. It was done automatically, and now Keith felt incredibly conflicted.

He was sat watching TV with his feet up on the coffee table, silently nodding off to try and sleep away the massive headache rattling his head, when a weight slumped down and leaned against him, letting out a pleased huff.

"Hello," Keith yawned, too tired to shove him off. "Not satisfied with your candles?"

"Oh, I am," Lance replied quietly. "They're just not warm enough."

Keith opened a lazy eye. "Warm enough? It's a flame."

"No, I mean," Lance huffed, his head tired and heavy against Keith's shoulder. "You're warmer."

"I'm warmer?"

"Yeah."

Keith closed his eyes and gave a relaxed sigh. He'd poured all of his tolerance into this spirit and part of him felt glad about it, while the other part wondered about the hand resting upon his forearm.

He lifted his right hand and gently placed it upon Lance's, feeling the significant warmth spread through him like a curious fire. Something about Lance's constant change of temperature made Keith think differently about this cosy spirit, but nonetheless, it was much easier to fall asleep when he was right there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance can be a little shit sometimes.

The scent of orchid was incredibly comforting when Keith's head was full of stress because he couldn't find his car keys. With his motorbike back in its usual place, sat snug next to his car, he wanted to ride it as soon as possible, but not with the dreary weather outside.

Each window had a chair next to it, and occasionally, a purple candle. When the candle was lit, Keith knew that Lance was watching the rain, but also how the curtains were parted to bear an invisible structure, and Keith guessed it was his shoulders. He'd walked around the house carrying his car keys in an attempt to tell the spirit that he was going out, but he'd never found a candle beside a window since.

Until, he saw a curtain being held open and recognised the comforting scent of orchid flooding his nose. Just the presence of him made Keith feel less lonely; but he was still questioning what happened a couple of nights ago.

"Hey," Keith grabbed his leather jacket from the hanger next to the door. "I'm going out."

The candle was extinguished. The curtains fell and relaxed against the sides of the window. The room felt cold again.

"Lance?" Keith murmured. "Hey, I'm—"

Then, he felt two arms wrap around his waist and squeeze him until he couldn't breathe, which surprised him, because he had no idea how cuddly Lance could be. He gasped for air before Lance settled his grip. Keith's head was against his shoulder, clearly portraying how different their heights were.

Keith sighed quietly. It seemed frustrating not having to see him all the time.

"Where are you going?" Lance murmured, too sultry for Keith's liking, and he swore he could feel a breath moistening the shell of his ear. He froze in place, his heart hammering against his chest. Shit. Fuck.

"The grocery store," Keith swallowed. "D-Do you have to be so—  _Hey!"_

He soon realised that Lance loved games and messing with Keith's head a little  _too_  much for his own good.

He also realised that playing hide-and-seek with a spirit was a terrible idea, because tickles were torture to Keith, and he could barely walk around the house and keep his mouth shut at the same time, giggling like an idiot into his fist as he waited for the next attack.

"Haha, hey," Keith wrapped his arms around his torso and chuckled. "I gotta go, Lance! Do you want anything?"

He kept walking around the house with his hands shoved into his armpits, protecting his vulnerable body from any sort of tickle attack. Lance was mischievous and unpredictable and Keith had to be prepared for anything.

However, he wasn't prepared to be shoved against his bedroom wall and have his sweater shoved up, coaxing the comforting heat out of him and making him shiver with the sudden cold. He swallowed, hard, at the feeling of hands against his abdomen, feeling the soft muscle underneath.

"Hey..." Keith murmured, his glasses sliding to the end of his nose. The spirit gave a satisfied yet irked huff. "Lance..."

"You're easy to mess around with," Lance whispered, and Keith shivered intensely at the feeling of lips against his neck. "It's adorable how impatient you get."

Keith bit his lip and watched the air in front of him ripple. Lance's fingers kept going, delicately tapping and tickling his bare chest, coaxing small chuckles out of Keith, his breath hitching suddenly at the thumb stroking his bottom lip.

"I have to go," Keith whispered. "I'll be back, though, I promise."

"Promise?" Lance pulled his bottom lip down with a thumb. Keith inhaled sharply, wondering how the hell Lance was affecting him this much; he just wanted to see the smirk on his face.

It was then Keith realised he wanted more help regarding his spirit situation.

"Mhm," Keith licked his lips and unintentionally caught Lance's thumb with his tongue. "I'm gonna go now."

"Fine." Lance huffed.

The trip to the grocery store was easy enough but Keith couldn't stop looking at the passenger seat, expecting Lance to reply to his conversations before guilt festered in his heart. He didn't know how or why, but he really felt pity for the spirit living in his house, and as much as he wanted to help, he didn't want to lose him either.

It was a dilemma Keith was willing to go through, ever since he got to know Lance and his personality.

It was something about him. Everything about him. How he laughed around the house when Keith felt down, how he told jokes when he  _knew_  Keith felt down. Lighting candles when he felt like the house was too cold. Keith had started to fall in love with the scents Lance provided to the point where he didn't know if he was falling in love with Lance himself.

He made sure to purchase a bag of cinnamon rolls for Lance's sake and drive home. Even trying to pick up items for him felt like he was providing for a boyfriend waiting at home.

Fuck, Keith had dug himself a deep hole.

"Hey, I'm home," he called and the bags were taken from him immediately. "Thanks."

"Only helping because, well, I live here," Lance snorted. "You were out for a while."

"I wasn't," Keith laughed and helped Lance with the groceries.

He lifted his head again, holding a box of cereal in his grasp. His clothes were right in front of him, as if they were sat upon an invisible mannequin, moving like a real person; and for some reason, Keith couldn't look at him without feeling a painful lump in his throat.

"Why are you wearing my clothes?" he asked. Lance turned.

"You have a nice wardrobe," Lance hummed. "And it's nice to feel something on me again, I guess."

"You were  _naked_  the whole time?!"

Lance snorted. "Hey, if you can't see anything, it doesn't count."

Keith chewed on the inside of his cheek. Now really wasn't the time to ask.

"I'm seven inches if you were wondering."

The cereal box fell out of his hand and onto the floor. Keith grabbed the handle of the fridge and yanked it open, both hiding his scarlet face and cooling his cheeks down.

 _"Why_  would you say that?!" Keith hissed, suddenly becoming very interested in the carton of milk in front of him. "You're— You're ridiculous, L-Lance—  _hey!"_

A slight squeeze of his backside as Lance placed cheese in the fridge was enough for his head to wander, and Keith hated it. He slammed the fridge door shut and leaned against it with his arms folded, a pout forming on his lips, sulking like a toddler.

"I hate you," he murmured. A hand lifted his chin.

"Do you?" Lance whispered, and Keith could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "Because I don't think you did when I taught you how to touch yourself."

Keith's eyes flew open. "You remember that?!"

"I might do."

Keith felt Lance thumb his bottom lip once again as his eyes focused on his broad shoulders, accentuated by the crimson sweater he was wearing. He could see the height clearer, and he didn't know if it was annoyance or arousal curling in his gut. He huffed and waited for Lance to finish his act, which he did so, by placing both hands on Keith's backside and giving it a generous squeeze.

"Nice ass, by the way."

Keith furrowed his brow. "I hate you more."

"I think it's cute," Lance laughed. "How you're trying to intimidate me by eye-contact and you're failing."

"Shut up!" Keith folded his arms. "You're  _totally_  intimidated."

"I really am," Lance chuckled, poking Keith in the ribs again to coax laughter out of him, which worked more than Keith wanted to admit. "I love it when you laugh."

Keith bit his lip, his smile ceasing. "What?"

Then, his clothes were in a useless heap on the floor, and Keith felt loneliness gather in his heart again.

Lance kept disappearing a lot lately. And Keith didn't know whether it was his fault or he wanted to be alone, but it still didn't feel right, and thus he remained hopeful that Lance returned. And sometimes he did, and Keith would feel elated, but not for long.

With a small, upset sigh, Keith picked up his clothes and walked upstairs to put them back in his closet.

* * *

Taking a phone call in his car seemed odd, but if he didn't want Lance to eavesdrop and find out his plans, it was something he had to do. And even if Keith rarely looked at ghosts and the paranormal, he still wasn't fond of calling up a medium or using Ouija boards, so he decided to call Pidge for some advice. She didn't hand it particularly well, as in, completely denying Keith's side of the story.

"A ghost?" Pidge snorted. "In  _your_ house? Keith, it's new—"

"I know! But it's there and I just," he huffed, "it's difficult to explain, okay?"

"Okay." Pidge sighed. "I'll get Hunk to come over when he's finished working."

"Thank you."

Dial tone. Keith got out of the car and slammed the door shut, before he walked back inside to greet the lonely ghost.

"You're back!" Lance called, from  _somewhere._ "Where did you go? Why don't you just stay here?"

"I had to make a phone call," Keith replied, closing his door.

His eyes scanned the house, but with no sign of a lit candle, and no evidence of the air wavering, Keith decided to head upstairs in the direction of his voice. He turned the corner to his bedroom but stopped in his tracks at the sight of his once-clean room.

His entire closet was all over the bed and floor, neatly folded, with a few garments being held in mid air to compare them. Lance had colour-coded them in an attempt to organise Keith's wardrobe, and as much as Keith was thankful, he didn't want Lance prying through.

"Hey," Keith laughed. "What are you doing with my clothes?"

He knelt on the bed and retied his hair into an unkempt ponytail as he watched Lance do the work. He must be enjoying it if he decided to go through his entire closet, and part of Keith felt thankful. The other part was mostly confused.

"I'm organising your stuff," Lance said. He was wearing Keith's clothes again, and he couldn't take his eyes off the skinny jeans hugging his legs, slender and long; suddenly, he couldn't think of anything else. "And you have a great collection of underwear, I could never afford Calvin Klein."

"I get a lot for my birthday from Shiro," Keith snorted. "And—"

"What are these?" Lance giggled, holding a pair of black thigh-high baseball socks, finished with two white stripes at the top. Keith reached forward immediately to snatch them away.

"They're mine!" he hissed, stuffing them underneath the sheets. "Pidge got me them as a joke for my eighteenth birthday."

"Can I see them on you?" Lance chuckled, and Keith watched the mattress dip as Lance approached him. "Please? It'll be fun! Like a fashion show!"

"No," Keith laughed nervously. He wore them on the night along with a pair of matching black shorts that Pidge said was "sure to show off your athletic ass." "Really, Lance."

And there he was, using his flirty charm to seduce Keith into making a decision he almost agreed with, cupping his cheeks and lifting his head, running his thumbs against his lips. Keith grinned. He wasn't gonna get away with it this time.

"Please?" Lance murmured. Keith winked.

"Nope."

But what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the hands snaking down his body and reaching his thighs. Keith knew he was the stronger man. The better man. He could handle this.

"If you do," Lance muttered, close to the shell of Keith's ear, and he shivered at the contact of lips. "I'll make it up to you."

And suddenly Keith wasn't the better man.

"How?" Keith whispered. "They're just socks, they do nothing, how about you wear them and we'll see?"

"Because, babe, I'm not sure if you've noticed but I don't have legs to show off, as much as I want to."

Keith picked up a pillow and smacked it into Lance's side, hearing him laugh as he clambered on top of the spirit and hit him numerous times with the pillow.

"Stop flirting with me!" Keith snorted, tossing the pillow to the side. "You're not allowed to, this house is a flirt-free house."

"It wasn't when I was around!" Lance giggled, but then his tone turned solemn. "Still a virgin though."

"Do they not have hot chicks in the afterlife?"

"Why would I want hot chicks in the afterlife when there's a hot guy on top of me?"

Keith pouted. "Touché."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally receives an explanation.

Keith really didn't want to intrude on Lance's time in the afterlife, but if he wanted true answers on how he came to be like that in the first place, he just had to bring his friends over. Hopefully they'd give him an insight without turning it into a mourning ceremony; Keith hoped not, anyway—he didn't want to find out that Lance had died a horrible death instead of being trapped in a house fire.

And despite having an interest in them, Keith didn't know a lot about ghosts and spirits, or how they behaved. How was he going to tell them about his behaviour? Call him a pervert? A flirt? Some invisible guy hanging around in his house?

Keith sat up in bed and grabbed the band from his nightstand to throw his hair up into a loose ponytail, before he snatched his glasses, placed them upon the bridge of his nose, and walked downstairs. Some of the contents of his closet had still been left on the floor.

The closer he got to the ground floor, the more Keith could hear a melody coming from the radio accompanied with a voice. He knew that voice, and as much as he enjoyed Lance's company, he was singing far too loudly for Keith's liking. He'd only just woken up after all.

When he turned into the kitchen, however, he froze in his tracks and glared at the pair of thigh-high socks that fit snug around a pair of legs, floating, with a clear structure, in mid-air. Keith frowned and folded his arms, watching them step and twist around the kitchen floor as the smell of bacon wafted through his nose.

"What are you doing?" Keith murmured. Lance paused, and he watched the socks turn.

"I'm making you breakfast, since I'm so nice," Lance snorted. The spatula he had waved around in the air, making Keith snort. "And I'm wearing your socks since you won't."

Keith rolled his eyes and took a mug from the cupboard, and then shoved it underneath his coffee machine. "Reasonable."

Did he need Lance to know?

After all, this was  _Lance's_ house, and Keith felt odd doing a synopsis on his past life. But he needed him to know just in case he misbehaved and Keith didn't know if he could handle the embarrassment if Lance pounced on him when he was unaware.

"Hey, uh," Keith muttered, stirring sugar into his coffee. "I'm having people over today."

"People?" Lance laughed. "You're not having animals?"

"Funny." Keith sipped his coffee and sat up on the counter. "But—"

"Is it people you like?" Lance murmured, the little flirty lilt trilling at the end making Keith blush. "Good people? Friends?"

"I think Pidge is coming," Keith tried to relay the names of his friends off the top of his head while he watched bacon get flipped by a floating spatula. "And Matt, but that's her brother, he's pretty nice—"

He was almost knocked off the counter by how fast Lance approached him, the hot spatula inches away from his bare thigh as Keith felt his presence getting closer and closer. He shifted away slightly, his eyes as wide as saucers, clutching onto his mug for dear life.

"Ooh," Lance giggled. "Do you like him?"

"No, not like _that_ anyway," Keith tapped his fingers against his mug. "He's my friend."

Realising what Lance was insinuating, Keith began to grin mischievously and glared directly at the rippling air in front of him.

"Are you  _jealous_ , Lance?" he smirked. The spatula next to him clattered against the counter.

"No?" Lance coughed. "No, no!  _Me?_ Jealous? That's impossible, Keith, I-I don't get jealous—"

"You so are," Keith cooed, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair, being confident with his guess of Lance's height. "Aww, Lance thought I had a  _boyfriend!"_

"Did not!" Lance hissed, and the sudden contact of hands on Keith's thighs made him jump. "You're an idiot!"

Keith hid his chuckles behind a hand as he watched the pair of socks walk back over to the oven. Lance was an excellent cook and Keith couldn't deny it even if he wanted to, and he loved how Lance hummed along to the music of the radio as if he knew every single melody.

All he could think about was his friends and how they'd treat him. They didn't even believe Keith at first, how was he going to prove it now? Would it be strange to ask Lance to wear clothes for them, or would that make it weird?

Keith huffed and took a sip of his coffee, watching the cupboard open for Lance to take out a plate. Part of him found it adorable that Lance was a little jealous, but then again, if Lance couldn't act upon it, the rest of him felt sadness and pity. Whatever, he was going to find out a lot today, and he didn't know if he was ready or not.

Once they sat in front of the television, Keith couldn't take his eyes off the lilac candle burning beside it as he was absorbed in the scent of orchid and floral tones; it was such a silly thing to be curious about, but Lance picked two sweet scents that had bland colours, and only one that was a striking purple.

"Why purple?" Keith murmured, his gaze flitting to the long legs crossed upon his coffee table. He smirked when Lance wriggled his toes in the socks to get comfortable as he tried to think of an answer.

"Uh," Lance took Keith's empty plate, his voice quietening as he became distant. "It's pretty."

Keith didn't believe him, but he took it as a valid argument, and watched the candle as it burned.

"You said you had people over?" Lance said. Keith felt the couch become weighted as Lance flopped back down beside him.

"Yeah," Keith sighed. "Uh, they're friends that are interested in ghosts. I just wanna know where you've come from and if I can help you."

"Are you serious?"

His tone seemed more scared rather than thankful, and Keith started to head upstairs after he dumped his empty mug in the kitchen. His heart ached for Lance's fears but it was something he just had to do. After turning into his bedroom, he heard another pair of footsteps thunder up the stairs.

"Please, Keith," Lance murmured. "I know you want to help and everything, but please don't do this."

"It's for your own good," Keith replied quietly, taking out an outfit from the closet. "Besides, I'm sure you want to be free from the afterlife."

"Well, yes, I do," Lance huffed. "But not in the way you think, K-Keith,  _please_ just—"

"The way I think?" Keith pulled on his clothes. "Why are you so offended? You're supposed to be thankful."

"Just don't." Lance pleaded, his voice breaking at the first instance of being upset. "Please don't."

Keith ignored his begging and tossed him an outfit. He had to be stern. This was a spirit that wanted to be around and refused to leave even if he wanted to. He wasn't having any of Keith's persistence at all. 

With his heart hammering, Keith waited for Lance to pull on the outfit and discard the socks in his drawer before he walked back downstairs. He wasn't going to let this ghost out of his sight. He wanted to feel regret, and have the guilt festering in his chest, but he couldn't bear to be without the knowledge about Lance's presence any more.

* * *

"So," Pidge crossed her legs and pushed her spectacles onto her nose. "Where is he?"

Keith watched Matt come back from the kitchen with a can of Pepsi and sit back down beside his sister, while Hunk held a small notebook and pen, clearly eager to start. Keith had never been so anxious. He knew where Lance was because he could feel the pressure of his forearms pressing the back of the couch down, and the occasional huff of discontent blowing his hair around.

"Behind me," Keith said, flatly.

"They're arms?" Matt cocked his head. "Wearing a red sweater? You put  _clothes_ on a fucking ghost!"

"It was a good idea at the time!" Keith hissed. "Look, I just want to figure this out, his name has been scratched from the booklet that came with the house, he said he died in a fire."

Pidge glared at the laptop in her lap and pulled up an array of names and addresses on Keith's street. He leaned over, feeling Lance tug on the collar of his shirt as a final plea, but quickly swatted his hands away before he could tempt him to do otherwise.

"You live here," Pidge said, pointing to her screen. "And Lance's name _is_ in the database. He exists according to the real estate information. Look, there's his phone number and everything."

Keith's blood ran ice cold, and he looked over at Hunk for some other detail he knew he wouldn't be able to handle.

"I wouldn't know why he'd be crossed out in the hard copy," Hunk shrugged. "Do you know what kind of spirit he is?"

"No," Keith shook his head. "He talks a lot, he interacts with me a lot."

"Okay." Hunk wrote that down and Keith watched Pidge click to the next website. "What about his behaviour?"

"He asked for candles." Keith said. "He likes being warm."

"Warm?" Matt cocked a brow. "I'm sure if a ghost's cause was death by  _fire_ , surely it'd be strange for it to want a naked flame beside it."

Keith felt another huff against the nape of his neck, as if Lance was getting irritated that the truth was slowly unfolding. He swallowed and kept reading the screen.

"Good point," Hunk grinned. "What else?"

"He's been in the rain," Keith added. "I went out with him because he missed the storms. He also seems to miss me even if I'm out of the house for a couple of seconds, he's like a puppy with separation anxiety."

"Hey," Lance murmured. Matt shrieked.

"Ah," Pidge grinned. "I found him. Lance McClain. There isn't an obituary about him, but there is a history of a house fire."

"Right," Keith frowned. Suddenly, the clothes behind him collapsed in a heap on the floor. "So you're saying he didn't die?"

"He might have, but his behaviours don't seem..." Hunk laughed nervously. "Ghost-like."

"What do you mean?" Keith said. "He's clearly not here, he said he died—"

"The fire happened five years ago, Keith," Pidge murmured. "Before the McClain residence. It just doesn't make sense."

"The candles," Hunk began. "Is there any other reason?"

Keith thought back to the time where Lance was far too enthusiastic to order candles.

"He likes the scent of things," Keith explained. "I brought home cinnamon rolls because he enjoys the smell, so I suggested buying candles."

"He can touch you, and he has a sense of smell," Matt snorted. "Keith, that doesn't sound like a ghost, buddy." 

Keith couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could Lance  _not_ be a ghost? It just didn't seem feasible and he didn't want to believe anything else. Lance was gone. He was merely an apparition whether he liked it or not.

"Keith," Hunk murmured. "I think he's just lonely."

"Lonely?" Keith frowned. "But—"

"I think what Hunk is trying to say," Pidge closed her laptop. "Is that he's not dead. He's become so withdrawn from friends and family that he's condensed into his own personal aura. He'll act like a normal person, but he just isn't there, if you get what I mean."

Fury began to burn inside of Keith. If this was true, he wanted Lance to tell him everything, and demand an apology from him for lying and giving him a sob-story to make him feel pity. This wasn't fair, and as much as Keith wanted to understand, he just couldn't.

"He's lonely?" Keith breathed. "This is bullshit."

"It's not." Matt shrugged. "It kind of makes sense. He can leave the house, and ghosts can't leave their place of death."

"Okay." Keith sighed. "I think you guys can go home."

Once the house was empty again, Keith picked up his clothes from the floor and stormed upstairs with rage burning in his chest. He didn't know what to believe at this point, and everything seemed just too much to comprehend.

"Lance!" he yelled, shoving his clothes back into his closet. "I don't care where the  _fuck_ you are, you better come out right fucking now."

The mattress dipped. Keith shoved his hands into his pockets. He couldn't believe it. He refused to. Ghosts weren't like that. Lance was  _dead_. He said so.

"Was that true?!" he hissed. "Are you  _lying_ to me to make me feel sorry for you?! To make me actually like you?! You're sick, McClain."

"It is," Lance breathed. "And you don't know how hard it was to keep that a secret! I was so scared you'd act exactly like this, I never asked for your pity, ever, and I was actually having fun with you and began to hope that maybe, just maybe, I could come back in fucking flesh and blood!"

"Do you not know how serious this is?!" Keith yelled. "What about the fire, huh? Is there  _any_ explanation to the kitchen, you little shit?!"

He could hear the crack of Lance's voice, noticing the sudden vulnerability as he refused to speak.

"Get out of my room," Keith murmured. His hands balled into fists as they trembled with anger.

"But—"

"Now!"

The weight vanished, and Keith leaned against the closet, hitting the back of his head against the door, fed-up, angry, and upset.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally heads back to work.

Keith had forgotten how much life Lance gave to his house, and realised he took it for granted, once Lance had disappeared for over five days.

It was colder than usual. Lonelier than usual. Keith had never seen a candle lit since and he'd began to wonder if Lance was truly gone. It seemed feasible, but Keith couldn't help but think that it was all his fault. He didn't hear a voice humming to the radio. No ridiculous fashion shows. No laughing at Lance's jokes.

He was the reason Lance disappeared suddenly, after all. He yelled at him for lying and yes, it wasn't the best truth to conceal, but Keith had never been so aggressive before. At least in a while, anyway, and now he felt so much remorse. He had so many things to say to Lance and now that he wasn't here, he couldn't. He couldn't apologise. He couldn't let Lance speak for himself and it was all his fault.

Keith laid on his bed holding his cellphone at arms-length above his face, re-reading the text that Shiro had sent. Word had gone round thanks to Matt about Keith's 'haunting' and how peculiar his case was, but apparently, a missing person disappearing due to reasons similar to Lance's seemed to be more common than he thought. He thought it was out of a sci-fi movie, unfamiliar and not able to be explained without difficulty, but if Hunk knew his paranormal causes and the way spirits reacted, then Keith just had to listen.

He was supposed to be working tonight, but if he wasn't coming back home to anyone, Keith felt stumped. He usually let Lance sit with him and watch television or let him try on outfits from his closet, but with the doubt that Lance may never come back weighing heavily on his shoulders, Keith decided to let the evening go by as usual. He'd be alone, but he was used to it.

However, he just didn't seem content with the answer Hunk gave him, and wished he hadn't ushered his friends out of the door after learning the truth. Keith stared at Hunk's name in his contacts before giving him a call, already thinking of an apology in his head for calling so late.

"Hey," Hunk answered, and Keith almost cried hearing his voice.

"I need your help," Keith clutched his sheets with his free hand and sat up.

And suddenly, his vision became misty with tears. He really didn't know what to do.

"I don't know what I've done," Keith swallowed. "After you left I yelled at him and he hasn't appeared for ages."

Hunk seemed to recognise the melancholy tone in Keith's voice, and soon enough, he hung up and decided to visit Keith alone. It seemed like the better option after leaving him so confused, so Keith made himself look presentable, and answered the door to let Hunk out of the cold rain. With the absence of Lance causing chaos in the house, he hoped Hunk wasn't suspicious that he'd made it all up.

"You trust me, don't you?" Keith blew his nose into a tissue and checked the time. Two hours until his shift. He felt nauseous thinking about it.

Hunk lifted his head as he sat down. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I? I've kind of hoped for one of my friends to have some sort of ghost situation, even if Lance isn't a ghost."

"Then what is he?!" Keith stressed, balling his hands into fists as he pulled his sleeves over his knuckles.

He was snapping out of sheer anxiousness. Being upset and clueless was never a good thing to feel, and Keith was definitely too absorbed in his own fear of losing Lance to be hopeful. Hunk sighed.

"He probably has a reason for being shrouded in his own aura," Hunk explained. "He's not dead. Something must've happened to make him feel so immensely lonely that he's been condensed into his soul. It's difficult to explain."

Keith nodded and wiped his wet cheeks with a sleeve. It'd been a while since he cried, let alone in front of other people.

"So, you're saying," Keith hummed. "Lance isn't dead, he's just been so alone in the past he's literally become  _invisible?"_

"It would make sense," Hunk nodded. "Regarding how his name was crossed out of the booklet. You'll have to find out his backstory for the reason, but perhaps you could bring him back, It's not guaranteed, and sometimes you just have to leave them be."

"Leave them be?" Keith swallowed. Hunk nodded solemnly.

"Some sad spirits often become so depressed they disappear completely."

It felt like his heart had been ripped in half and shredded into tiny pieces, unable to be fixed. If that could explain why Lance had left Keith's presence entirely without warning, he knew immediately that it was his fault. He called Lance sick for covering that up. And now, he'd caused Lance to vanish because he went way too far with his aggression.

"Keith?" Hunk murmured. "You okay—?"

"I," Keith swallowed. "I-I don't know. Lance hasn't been here for a while."

Hunk bit his lip. "How long?"

"This is the sixth day."

Keith picked up the lilac candle sat on the coffee table and sat it upon his lap to hold it. The wick was black, it had been burned over and over, pale, leftover wax had been left as a thin layer above the rich colour. Lance would still light it, Keith thought, taking in the scent of orchid as he tried to remember the last thing Lance did to catch his attention.

"It's my fault." Keith murmured. "I yelled at him for lying to me."

"I'm sure he hasn't gone far," Hunk sighed. "I don't know what else to suggest. Either he comes back, you apologise, and you figure out his backstory, or he's gone."

* * *

Keith knew he preferred company around his house after Hunk left. He didn't enjoy how eerily quiet it was, or how the cold made him feel so uncomfortable. He changed into his security uniform and decided to walk to the nightclub to save money for fuel. It wasn't far, and the fresh air was good for him.

The scent of wet tarmac was comforting, but Lance's love for rain kept close to him. Storms were almost normal to Keith now, even if he flinched at the occasional thunderclap. The raining had stopped and he stepped over puddles with his hands in his pockets, strolling down the dark streets with his headphones in his ears until he saw the ominous pink glow of the nightclub not so far ahead of him.

"Hey," Matt grinned. "Shiro's doing inside duty if you want to join him, but you can always help out here."

"I can always split," Keith shrugged, dodging the long line of teenagers carrying presumably fake identification and alcohol; something Keith had to remind them  _not_ to bring in and ultimately have it splashed on his face when he said no. "How are you?"

"Good," Matt moved to one side to let Keith stand beside him as he checked the driver's license of the girl in front of him. "You can't be here."

"I can!" she hissed. "Let me through."

Matt sighed and turned to Keith. "Go inside, you've had a bad week. I'll handle this."

"Thanks," Keith gave Matt a content nod and snaked inside the door.

Alcohol was all he could smell. Sex and alcohol. He was used to the music booming in his ears and the hot, sweaty atmosphere of a high-quality nightclub, leaving him dizzy with the amount of blinding lights piercing his pupils. He wound through the back of the crowd, avoiding the group of girls taking shots on the floor, and finally met up with Shiro beside a pool table.

"Hello." Shiro grinned. "How's your ghost?"

Keith frowned. "I don't want to talk about it."

He was hoping for his job to take his mind off the whole 'Lance disappearing' ordeal, but once Shiro mentioned it, he was back at square one, feeling as emotionally unstable as he was when Hunk came over. He had never felt so down and numb before, and that bothered him.

The night went on. He managed to drag out two teenage boys after they fought in the bathroom, and a girl who had thieved some expensive tequila when the bartender wasn't looking. It wasn't easy, but Keith was thankful for the pay and praise he got for having a good night. What he wasn't grateful for, however, was the abuse he got from drunk youths.

Matt swapped with Shiro. He came inside rubbing his arms briskly, before standing beside Keith. He had his arms shoved in his pockets, sat against the pool table, yearning for something to do.

"You're moody tonight," Matt said, raising his voice over the music.

"When am I not?" Keith smirked. "I'm bored."

Even the amount of girls pouring out from the restroom were having fun and all they'd done is become so intoxicated they couldn't walk properly; Matt quickly handled that, leaving Keith clueless.

His gaze flitted to his watch. Almost one in the morning.

Then, he looked at the bartender, and how empty the stools were in front of him.

So, Keith acted on his impulse decisions and walked up to order a tequila, sitting down as he watched the bartender's hands do their magic. Keith had always wondered how they worked, but he landed in a much different career path.

"You're wearing uniform," he laughed, handing Keith the tequila. "Is this an off-night or are you a stripper?"

"I wish it was both," Keith snorted. "I'm security."

"Oh, I know you," the bartender grinned, taking out a cloth to wipe down the bar. "You're the cute one."

Keith choked on his tequila and felt it sting the back of his throat and burn his lungs. "I'm sorry?"

"Keith?" he said. "The cute one. I'm sure."

"I-I mean," Keith laughed nervously, watching Matt approach him out of the corner of his eye. "I have to go."

Matt's grip was so harsh on his arm Keith thought he was going to develop a bruise, and thus rubbed it with his palm after placing his drink somewhere else. Matt folded his arms and cocked a brow, gesturing his head to the shot glass beside him.

"I'm bored!" Keith huffed. "Let me have a drink. Just one."

"One." Matt murmured. "Stop flirting with the bartender."

"What—?" Keith snatched his drink up. "I wasn't flirting! He was!"

Matt winked. Keith rolled his eyes and necked his shot.

And then he went up for another when Matt wasn't looking, and flashed a smile at the bartender. Matt had actually began to join him after two, and all three of them were giggling behind glasses.

"You still wear your specs even as security," the bartender smirked. "That's dangerous."

"It's more dangerous if I can't see," Keith hiccuped, snorting at Matt's uncontrollable laughter.

It had taken him four shots to him to realise that he wasn't fit for work, nor driving, but he attempted to stay awake and kept laughing at Matt's dancing as he manoeuvred in front of the pool table. He wasn't going to join, of course, he felt way too nauseous—but everything seemed hilarious to Keith even if he felt like he was about to fall over.

In a drunken state, he strolled outside and waved goodbye to Matt as his shift came to an end. His mind didn't feel so full, he felt  _free_ , but his stomach was brewing up more than a storm and he knew he had to get home soon. Shiro didn't seem happy about his decision, especially when Keith tripped into a couple of boys holding bottles of beer.

"Sorry," Keith swallowed. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I tripped."

They didn't seem to care. The boy on the right had been shoved to the floor and with Keith's hands thrown up in surrender, he knew he wouldn't be able to explain himself.

"Watch it!" he hissed. "What the fuck?!"

"I said I was—!"

It didn't feel fun any more once Keith saw the bottle smash against the wall behind them. He couldn't duck out of the way in time, and felt the glass scrape the skin of his face and hit the side of his head. 

Shiro's hands were on him immediately, tossing him out of the club as quickly as possible. He raised a hand to his forehead, listening to the deafening row behind him, and began walking home with blood staining his palms.

He felt sick. Scared, even. Matt clearly told him not to go overboard and he'd done it. 

And now everything had come back to haunt him, his sadness, his empty state of being, how much he missed the spirit walking around his home and how good he made Keith feel. He stumbled through his front door in violent tears, punched the light-switch next to him, and grabbed a tissue to absorb the blood.

It was the pain. Keith had never had that happen to him before, and it didn't help that he was intoxicated, too. A candle, a lilac one, was lit upon the coffee table.

"Keith!" a voice yelled. "Oh my God! What the  _fuck_ did you do!"

Keith raised his head and used his free hand to cover his mouth as he sobbed. The sudden weight on the couch was so,  _so_ comforting, and by the way it held him in secure arms, a wet cloth against Keith's bleeding wound, he wanted to vow never to drink again. Not when Lance was so concerned.

"I'm sorry!" Keith cried, burying his face in what felt like his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—!"

Despite all the pain and excruciating sadness he felt searing inside of him, he'd never been so thankful in a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is desperate to help Lance.

With a headache rattling his skull and his face buried in something warm, Keith had never woken up feeling so queasy yet so comfortable in his life. He hadn't drank himself sick, nor kissed anyone he'd regret kissing, but he was glassed with a beer bottle and that was the first thing to start aching.

Something wafted into Keith's nose upon waking. Orchid, he thought. There was a candle burning on his nightstand, the purple one, its wax almost beyond halfway point. But the edges rippled, and Keith had to squint to notice that everything around the candle seemed to ripple as if it were sat in a heatwave. He was puzzled for a while until he felt two arms squeeze him closer.

And then, Keith was crying all over again, feeling all the remorse weigh upon his shoulders, reminding him of how he yelled at Lance just a couple of days ago.

"I'm—" Keith began, stopping when he felt a finger on his lips.

"I know you're sorry." Lance whispered. "I'm sorry too."

Keith curled up tighter in both the comfort of Lance's arms and his sheets. It felt strange being coddled by something that wasn't there.

Lance started humming softly, his fingers trailing through Keith's tousled bedhead as he sobbed silently. For once, something felt right about Lance being there, but the pain present in his heart was killing him excruciatingly slowly the more he started falling for him, and started yearning to  _see_ him.

He felt the soft vibrations of the hum gathering in Lance's neck, and so Keith placed his lips there, but to his dismay, he stopped.

"What are you doing?" Lance chuckled quietly. "You're not supposed to be this eager when you're hungover and crying."

Keith wiped his tears with the ball of his palm and smiled a little bit. Lance was such an optimist no matter how he felt, and Keith was impressed that he kept up this happy facade even though he hid so much.

He wanted to ask him about everything. His childhood, his family, where he came from. Keith had so many questions but he was terrified of making Lance feel even worse; he was terribly upset when Lance left for a few days, and he certainly didn't want to go through that again.

Although, Lance still had warmth. Keith knew that. He was being cuddled as close as possible because that was  _Lance's_ preferred comfort, and he'd projected his coping mechanisms onto Keith in hopes of making him feel better in the same way. It was working so far. 

"Don't I get a 'good morning'?" Lance hummed. "I cleaned up your bleeding and patched you up and made sure you were in comfy clothes."

"Yeah," Keith nodded. "Good morning, Lance."

"Morning to you too."

Keith rolled his eyes and attempted to sit up, feeling Lance's hands on his torso to keep him stable. He held his head for a short while as he got used to his dizzying surroundings, took a sip from the water on his nightstand, and leaned back into Lance. 

It had turned into a crippling fear. Keith had never cared about anything so much before; everything had left him in the past and he was petrified that Lance was going to be the same.

With a deep breath, he started to ask questions, keeping his head on Lance's shoulder the entire time in case he disappeared without warning.

"So," Keith swallowed and wiped his wet cheeks. "Could you tell me about your past? Why are you not here now?"

"Long story," Lance laughed pitifully. "But I moved here to study marine biology, passed with flying colours, and got a house, which is this one right now."

Keith had already noticed the solemn tone in his voice.

"But my parents," he sighed. "My parents didn't want me here. I was cut off from everybody because I ended up getting a new home phone. I'm bad at making friends, and of course I couldn't talk to my family. They were too disappointed, I think."

"Oh." Keith murmured. "Is that why you're so lonely?"

"I guess so." Lance muttered. 

There was an uncomfortable pause. It lasted for at least two minutes, and Keith would have assumed that Lance was gone if he didn't feel his fingers intertwine with his own.

"I-It's so hard, Keith, it's awful," Lance sniffed. "I'm literally invisible to everyone. My family don't want me because I wanted a fresh start and having nobody around for a while just made me become less and less involved. I didn't go anywhere. I didn't do anything. And one day it was like falling asleep, I felt faint, and then I guess this happened."

Keith looked up, keeping his gaze on the slight ripple of the air. He knew how it felt to have a distant family, but not one that immediately left him as soon as he was independent. Lance had such a potential in his future and it was torn from him; but if anything, Keith wanted him to get in contact with his family as soon as possible.

"It was just so nice to hear a voice again." Lance continued, and Keith already knew he was in tears. "You made this place warm, I guess, and I was so scared that you'd leave forever every time you opened that door."

Keith furrowed his brow. "Of course not, if I knew, I would've helped sooner—"

"I became so attached. I didn't want you to pity me so I made up the story that I'd died in a fire that happened before I lived here." Lance sniffed. "And it's so ridiculous because I want to be  _here_ , with you! Visibly! And it's not fair because I might not ever be like that again. Every time I disappear, I just feel sick again, it's like there's a constant weight on my shoulders when I go back into shrouded self-doubt. Even  _I_ don't know where I go."

Keith squeezed his hand and tried to think, but all he could do was sit there. He really wanted to help Lance return safe and sound, and get back into the real world to contact his family. He just didn't know how, and the unknown frustrated Keith. He wanted to be able to help. He needed the knowledge.

"I'm going to help you," Keith leaned further into Lance. "I promise. I'll get you back with your family, and I'll make you feel less lonely. What do you think you need?"

Lance sighed. "I don't know. I really don't know."

"Company?" Keith asked. "A friend? Alcohol? Sex? You name it, I'll get it."

Lance laughed, and it was the first time Keith had heard it in a while. It rumbled delightfully against his chest when Keith put his hand there. 

"Just you." Lance murmured. "If that's okay. It's been hard to tell you that I love you when I'm not actually here."

Keith bit his lip to stifle the smile attempting to crawl upon his lips. It felt nice. Warm, maybe. Keith hadn't felt it for so long. It was nice to have feelings returned.

"I think it's so cute when you try and prevent yourself from smiling," Lance giggled. "Because the tips of your ears go pink. You can't hide shit, Keith."

Keith picked up the pillow he was sat on and began slamming it into Lance's arm as laughter spilled past his smiling lips. His head hurt, he was dehydrated and hungry, but he couldn't care any less. He felt Lance's figure shove him onto the mattress, Keith's head nearly reaching the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide as Lance settled himself between them, his hands cupping his cheeks.

"You're eerily warm right now," Keith snickered. "You used to be cold."

"I am?" Lance lifted a hand. "And you shouldn't be wrestling when you're injured, you doofus."

"I'm not a doofus," Keith stuck out his tongue. "You're the doofus for falling in love with me."

"Maybe I am," Lance chuckled warmly. "What do you want for breakfast this morning?"

* * *

Ever since Keith knew Lance could leave the house, he'd always wanted to take him places, including the nightclub he worked at. He still hadn't ridden his motorcycle and he started to miss it, but not so much when Lance was wearing his glasses and he had to pull over because he was laughing so hard.

"Stop!" Keith cackled, clutching at his stomach. "I'm gonna pee, take 'em off."

"But they're fancy," Lance snorted. "I think I look rather dashing."

"You don't even have a reflection!"

"I can look dashing if I want to!"

So, Keith started driving again and noticed how his phone was floating in mid-air out of the corner of his eye as Lance scrolled through his playlist. His glasses were still upon his non-existent nose and it occasionally made Keith giggle until he made it to the grocery store, and took them back.

"You have a good taste," Lance linked his arm with Keith's so he wouldn't stray away. "In music, I mean."

"Thanks," Keith grinned.

The day only grew more eventful from there.

Keith had one hand on the cart handle and another holding a tub of ice cream. He knew where Lance was because he'd snatched his glasses again, so Keith stared at the label of the tub, squinting, struggling to read. And then, something poked him in the side and the tub fell to the floor in an instant. Laughter ensued from behind. A little girl started staring at Keith.

"Lance," Keith murmured, bending over to pick up the ice cream, but dropping it again as he felt something hit his backside. "Lance!"

The little girl left with her mother. Keith's cheeks were fuchsia.

"Aw," Lance snorted. "You're ticklish! Am I just being too distracting in public?"

"Mhm." Keith tossed the ice cream in the cart. "Do you like cookie dough?"

"Haven't had it in years."

Keith bit his lip. Oh yeah.

"...would you like some?" he asked. "If I just got a bunch of snacks and we watched a movie and got to know each other? It could help you."

A pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and a chin rested upon the top of his head.

"That sounds like a date," Lance laughed. "Are we dating? Is this a date?"

Keith rolled his eyes and walked down the next aisle. "Maybe."

"N'aww, you're getting soft."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

In the end, Keith's cart was full of snacks and he couldn't be happier. He was finally satisfied with his purchases and let himself spend a little more with his most recent paycheck. Even though he wasn't sure if Lance could eat, it was still nice to have him participating.

Excitement began brewing inside Keith already. His room was perfect for making pillow forts and having a small movie session. It made him feel like a child again.

Lance helped him lift the bags into the back of the car and slammed the door shut when he sat beside Keith. The phone was floating again, and all Keith could do was snort as he pulled out of the car park to drive home.

"How was your first day out of the house?" he asked.

"Exciting," Lance replied. "I never knew I could leave the house until you showed me the rain for the first time in a while."

Keith tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing from the speaker. It was nice having company in his car, and Lance made it even better by singing along, which only encouraged Keith to do the same. Since he felt so elated, he decided to drive the long way home, letting Lance absorb the warmth and glow of the sunset.

"There's a beach near here," Lance began. "I knew that once I moved in. But I've never been."

"You'll have to show me," Keith replied. "I haven't been to a beach in a while."

Eventually, they arrived back home, and Lance assisted with bringing each bag into the house. He was making himself as helpful as possible and Keith started to wonder if he'd really missed being as productive as he was now. He couldn't blame him. He'd also choose a boring chore over being lonely. 

Pizza was ordered, and Keith asked if Lance could eat.

"I haven't tried," Lance replied. "But I  _could_ try."

"It wouldn't fall out of you, right?" Keith snorted. "Like Casper the friendly ghost?"

Lance laughed, and Keith watched the pizza boxes float up the stairs. "That would be fucking hilarious."

While Lance set up the food in Keith's bedroom, he brought out the blankets and sheets from his laundry room and draped them over his headboard. He pinned the rest to the ceiling, gathered some pillows on the inside, and finally let Lance put the food on the mattress. With the lack of a television, all Keith had to suffice was his laptop.

"Cosy," Lance hummed. "What a nice place to fuck."

Keith snorted. "What else are you trying to eat tonight?"

He couldn't see it, but Keith knew Lance was grinning like an idiot, trying to stifle even more laughter. He was so anticipated for a movie night in an attempt to help Lance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance deserves a movie night.

The blanket fort seemed much cosier from the inside compared to the outside. That, and Keith couldn't stop laughing at Lance's attempt to become a sheet ghost by wrapping it around his body for comfort, and whining when Keith made fun.

"Get the blanket off, it's gotta be on the bed," Keith laughed, tossing a pizza box onto the mattress. "And are you sure you can eat? You’re e not gonna drop half-chewed pizza onto my clean sheets, right?"

The blanket was draped over the bed delicately, with Keith's laptop neatly placed on top. It didn't take them long to find something interesting to watch, but Lance suggested to watch something bland if they're going to have conversation.

In the end, they agreed on some sort of romantic-comedy that Lance had watched a while back, so Keith trusted him and put the pizza box on his nightstand. After, he crawled underneath the blanket where it was raised, a tell-tale sign it was draped over Lance's slim figure, and propped his head up with a hand.

"Have you actually tried eating before?" Keith asked, his eyes on the screen. "Or sleeping? Do you do any of those things?"

Lance fell quiet for a moment in deep thought. Keith hoped he wasn't invading his privacy instantaneously and quickly grabbed a slice of pizza to shut himself up.

"I think I can if I want to," Lance replied. "I don't feel hungry, and I don't feel tired. I think I just feel numb most of the time."

"Numb?" Keith sat up, flinching when he felt something touch the corner of his lip.

"You had sauce on your lip," Lance giggled. "And yeah. It's difficult to explain—"

"You don't have to explain." Keith murmured, smiling with reassurance.

He bit his lip and tried to make out which position Lance was lying in. It upset him slightly, because he didn't  _want_ to second-guess, he wanted to crawl all over Lance and claim him as his own, to see him smile, to see how he  _looked_. 

With a hesitant hand, he started softly patting the edge of the blanket, trying to decipher in his mind where Lance's torso was. He felt the subtle bump of a ribcage, as well as lean muscle; Keith's cheeks flared as he suddenly remembered that Lance wasn't wearing anything, and so he cautiously smoothed his hand up until he found the soft ridge of a collarbone. He adjusted himself and shifted closer, planting his hand on Lance's chest.

"C-Can I put my head here?" he asked, noticing the scarily faint pitter-patter of a heartbeat.

"'Course," Lance murmured. "Thanks for touching me up."

Keith rolled his eyes with a smirk and comfortably curled up next to him, immediately appreciating the arm that was brought down and wrapped around him. His body was strange—with barely any heartbeat and only the sound of breathing above him, Keith kept attempting to read his pulse just to check if he was still there.

But the warmth—the warmth was new. Keith had never known Lance to feel so warm in a long time, and part of him hoped that it was him that caused it.

His gaze remained on the screen in front of him, his heart still hammering against his chest with this newfound feeling of affection, knowing he'd never get used to loving touches because he'd been starved of it for so long. With a quick glance at the time in the corner, he felt relaxed with the knowledge that it was almost midnight.

"What were your family like?" Keith murmured, his eyelids fluttering at the sudden stroke of fingers in his hair. He removed his glasses and set them beside him so he could lie comfortably. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I'm the youngest," Lance began. "I have two sisters and two brothers. I was the only one who wanted to move out as fast as I could, and I think that was why they left me here. It's pretty hard to go back to Cuba when I haven't organised anything with them, or been in contact with them for so long."

"Cuba?" Keith looked up, expecting Lance to be gazing right back, but all he saw was nothing. "You didn't tell me you were from Cuba."

"Heh, yeah," Lance murmured. "I miss it. I miss  _them_."

"I'm sorry." Keith sighed. "I just don't know how to help if I don't know a phone number."

"We can sort that out soon," Lance shrugged. 

Keith really wanted Lance to be reunited with his family again, even if it killed him. It didn't seem fair to him to be out of contact with a family that he cherished so much.

Lance's delicate fingers danced over the soft skin of Keith's neck, exposed by his ponytail, coaxing a quiet giggle out of him.

"Keith?"

"Mm?"

"Have you ever done this before?"

Keith shook his head, propping his chin up on Lance's chest. "You?"

"No," Lance murmured. "But I've always thought about it. I've wanted this for a while."

"Have you ever been in a relationship?" Keith asked. The movie had been abandoned, but neither of them cared.

"I had a girlfriend."

Keith swallowed. "When?"

"In kindergarten, for like, a day," Lance laughed. "Why, are you jealous?"

"No." Keith settled back on his chest and traced delicate circles on the surface of Lance's stomach. He was such a bad liar sometimes. "Have you ever... Have you ever gotten laid?"

"Sadly not," Lance hummed. "Which is sad. I wanted it to happen before I turned twenty but then I became invisible, and it's hard to be sexy when you're invisible, Keith."

Keith laughed. "But you wore my socks, I guess that was kind of sexy."

"You couldn't see the legs making it happen," Lance chortled. "But you enjoyed the show."

Keith smirked and smoothed his hand over the slight bumps of muscle on Lance's stomach as he watched the screen. He had always been curious about what his entire body looked like; he was excited, if he ever saw Lance, if he had freckles, birth marks, stretch marks, scars. Seeing him would be a dream come true for Keith. 

He kept watching the couple kiss onscreen as he shivered at the feeling of Lance's fingers threading through his hair, taking hold of the band keeping it together and tugging until it came out. Keith looked up and raised a hand, accurately forming it around Lance's jawline.

Although he was hesitant, Keith slowly shifted upwards and used his thumb as guidance by placing it on Lance's lower lip, before he leaned in and caught him in a kiss, surprised at his accuracy. Lance gave a hum of content and Keith kissed him even deeper.

The experience was dizzying. He slowly moved atop of Lance and relished the feeling of his velvet lips against his, eagerly kissing him back, feeling his hands cup his hips with confidence. Keith decided to push further. He couldn't get enough. Lance's hands were only exploring lower and Keith couldn't help but grin when they gave his backside a generous, heavy squeeze.

With the blanket still draped over them, Keith let Lance's fingers roam his body as his tongue slipped inside. He gave out a slight whine at the sudden throb between his thighs, but couldn't squeeze them together due to Lance's body being there; his cheeks flared as soon as he felt Lance chuckle.

He dipped his head lower, pressing his lips against Lance's neck, adoring how warm he felt against him. He gave it a few nips with his teeth and sank even lower, sucking on what felt like the skin of his collarbone, and grinning when his groin slid over a bump. Keith bit his lip, already realising that Lance wasn't lying, as he softly rutted into the slight throb beneath him.

 _"Ah—_ K-Keith, babe," Lance panted. "Th-That's my dick..."

"I know," Keith hummed, kneeling up as he shimmied out of his jeans and kicked off his briefs. "And I'm gonna ride it."

"Fuck."

Keith knew he was far too eager to begin as he moved down, keeping his hand on the gentle throbbing underneath him, and gave it a long, slow lick. When he felt Lance's thighs shudder, he took his length in his hand and slowly slid it past his wet lips, subtly attempting to measure him with his mouth and his hand, tip to base, and gave a low moan of content after picturing it in his head.

"Whoa," Lance moaned. "Shit, Keith..."

Keith poured every ounce of love and lust into making Lance feel spectacular and giving up was not an option. Hearing him moan just for Keith sent delightful shivers of excitement down his spine as he sank his lips deeper, taking in the taste of salt, sweat and skin, already knowing it was going to be impossible for it to fit. 

Keith second-thought that, and slid two fingers inside of him, just in case. Lance's hand had settled atop Keith's head, his fingers curling and tugging his hair.

"Fuck," Lance whimpered. "Don't stop, Keith,  _p-please..."_

Keith moaned as his cheeks hollowed around the cock in his mouth and used his hand to stroke the rest of him, letting little whines slip past his lips as his fingers brushed past his prostate. He sped up on Lance's dick without knowing, already adoring the desperate, broken moans coming from him.

"F-Fuck,  _fuck_ , slow down," Lance panted. "Keith, holy shit."

He dared himself, and sank his lips deeper, until he felt the tip reach the back of his throat. It coaxed a loud whine out of Lance and Keith's fingers flinched inside of him in response, making him moan.

He lifted his head and wiped his lips, wishing he could see both Lance's face and his saliva-slick cock. His hands smoothed up Lance's side to map out his position, and sure enough, he'd only propped himself up by his elbows.

"There's some stuff under the bed," Lance panted. Keith paused, his jaw dropping. "What?! You think I haven't lived here and touched myself before?"

With a small snort, Keith reached under the bed and rolled his eyes at the feeling of Lance's hands squeezing and softly slapping his thighs and backside. Keith patted the floor beneath the bed until he found a bottle and rose back up, too lazy to take off his shirt.

"I assume it's this," Keith tossed the half-empty bottle of lubricant onto his bed. "And judging by the way it's half—"

"Full," Lance giggled.

"—empty," Keith grinned. "You whore."

Lance could only laugh lowly in response as Keith took the bottle and sat between Lance's legs, applying it on the tip of his dick and watching it slide down the length.

He bit his lip. Ah, this was one way to realise that Lance most certainly wasn't lying.

"I said seven." Lance murmured.

"Looks like eight."

"But—"

"Shut up," Keith smirked, smearing the lubricant over his length, rising to his knees, and reaching behind him to line himself up. "Stop bragging."

Slowly but surely, Keith sank his hips down with his hands gripping Lance's shoulders, and moaned at how full and  _hot_ Lance made him feel. He started by rolling his hips to get used to the stretch, but after getting overexcited, Keith couldn't help but slam his hips back down and moan in content. When his eyes slid shut, he felt something touch the bridge of his nose, and opened his eyes to see everything appearing clearer.

"I-I'm really fond," Lance moaned, his hands reaching Keith's backside. "Of you wearing your glasses."

"Really?" Keith hummed, biting his lip and craning backwards to hold Lance's thighs. One hand cupped and stroked his cock. "I'm surprised."

"Just—  _fuck_ ," Lance panted. "You're so hot, Keith."

Keith bit his lip and craned his head back to moan, feeling Lance's cock constantly brush past his prostate each time, coaxing quivering, broken moans out of him. It all seemed too much and not enough at the same time, so when Lance began bucking his hips into Keith, he couldn't restrain the long, loud moan of his name.

He leaned forward as Lance continued, angling himself so he nailed his prostate each time; Keith's nose found his neck and he stayed there as he whimpered in pure pleasure. The laptop had gone into standby which amused the both of them. 

Lips found Keith's neck and he let out a surprised groan at the new suckling sensation; as Lance's hips ceased, Keith began grinding onto him, shivering as his slender fingers snaked beneath Keith's shirt and fingernails scratched at his spine.

"You're so perfect," Keith moaned, wrapping his arms around Lance as he did for him. "You're amazing, McClain."

A flash of heat from Lance's body seared through Keith. He buried his face into Lance's shoulder and slammed his hips down harder, simultaneously rutting against the firm muscle of Lance's stomach.

"I-I love you," Keith breathed, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and sucking softly. "I really do adore you, L-Lance..."

Another sudden hot flash, and Keith pressed more kisses into Lance's neck and lips, holding him as close and as tight as he could. With the friction on his cock and the movement deep inside of him, he wasn't going to last long. Lance's panting seemed more reassuring than Keith thought.

"How much?" Lance murmured, his grip against Keith becoming stronger. "How—"

"A-A lot, okay?" Keith gripped his cheeks and forced his head to face him, placing his thumbs at the ridge of Lance's sockets so he could guess where his eyes were to maintain eye contact. "I've never,  _ever_ loved someone as much as you, and you know I'd do anything for you, don't you?"

He couldn't believe it, but his tearducts had begun to sting, already threatening tears.

"Don't you?" Keith swallowed, pressing his forehead against Lance's. "Anything, Lance, I promise."

"You p-promise?" Lance panted, a tone of relief lilting his speech.

Keith nodded, and firmly caught Lance in a final, deep kiss, as his hips bucked for the final time and Lance's fingernails sank into the soft skin of his back. The two of them collapsed against the bed against each other in silence apart from heavy breathing. Keith relaxed against Lance's chest and smiled softly at the sound of a rapid, happy heartbeat.

Catching his breath, Keith shifted back into his place beside Lance and looked down at his spent cock, before dropping his head against the mattress again. Lance began to giggle, and soon enough, Keith did too, with tears falling silently down his cheeks.

"Fuck," Lance breathed, laughing in elation. "That— hey, whoa, are you crying?"

"No?" Keith wiped his wet cheeks. "I don't cry during sex, what're you talking about."

"Figuring that was your first time, I think you do," Lance chuckled. "But seriously, you don't hurt or anything? You're not in pain?"

"No, I'm," Keith sniffed, "I'm happy."

He settled beneath the blanket again and placed his laptop on the floor. A hand fell upon his shoulder, causing him to lift his head.

"Hey," Lance murmured, and Keith could hear the soft smile in his voice. "Come here."

With a shy, tired smile, Keith moved closer to Lance and settled onto his chest, before getting tucked in the comfort of Lance's arms. He closed his eyes, feeling wholly exhausted and satisfied, almost falling asleep if Lance hadn't have spoken.

"Thank you," Lance whispered. Keith felt his lips against his forehead. 

"For what?" Keith murmured, but Lance had already drifted off into a deep slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets a scare.

The blanket fort had stayed intact for the rest of the night, which Keith was impressed with. He didn't expect it to hold after what he and Lance did so late in the middle of the night. With a groggy head, and the strong scent of sex and him filling his nose, Keith lifted himself and sat up, looking over to his left.

His heart almost stopped. Lance wasn't there.

He hoped that Lance had at least gotten up, but he had no reason to, especially if Keith expected them to sleep in. He frantically patted the sheets down, his heart hammering frighteningly fast against his chest as he tried to figure out where he'd gone. He lifted blankets, tore down the fort, and even tried to locate the candles in his room to see if any of them had been lit.

"Lance?!" Keith called, quickly pulling on a sweater and a new pair of underwear. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and quickly tied up his hair. "Lance, you home?"

Every single attempt seemed futile. His loss of hope was growing on him, and Keith sat down on the edge of the bed, curling his sweater sleeves over his knuckles. He didn't want to come to the sudden, upsetting conclusion that Lance was gone, but he'd dug too far deep in his mind to think of anything else.

Keith didn't know how to feel. He was supposed to reunite him with his family, and promise him a better future than he thought he was going to have. He still had so much to do and so much to see, and now he couldn't, because Keith couldn't bring him back. It seemed impossible. There was no way.

No sign of growing warmth in his presence. No laughter coming from different sections of the house.

And for once, Keith let himself cry. He buried his mouth and nose into the soft sleeves of his sweater, squeezing his eyes shut, coaxing tears to stream down his cheeks. It didn't feel right to be on his own. He felt too vulnerable for his own good, and began to think if it was his fault that Lance had left.

He obviously didn't make feel Lance happy enough.

Either that, or Keith was something for him to use; his throat started to hurt from crying so hard. He wouldn't, would he?

Keith hoped not. He spent so much time letting Lance through his boundaries to explore his vulnerable side, and now it'd been torn from him.

Still whimpering into his sleeve, Keith wiped his wet cheeks and runny nose, nudging his glasses up slightly, and stood up to walk downstairs. Both sadness and guilt festered in his stomach until he felt numb, like a black hole had replaced his heart and began sucking the life out of him slowly. He hated how he sounded when he cried, but if he was alone in his house now, who cared?

Keith turned the corner with a sniff and walked past his living room, staring at the lilac candle upon the coffee table. It was lit. His heart started to pound in hope, but he knew it was probably still there from yesterday, so he didn't trust himself just yet.

Until, he saw him standing in the kitchen, quietly humming along to the radio, neatly placing pieces of bacon into a prepared pan.

Keith covered his mouth with his sweater again as more tears made his vision foggy, still trying to comprehend how gorgeous he seemed from the back; despite his misty eyes, Keith could still pick out his long, slender legs, his fluffy, mahogany locks, and how beautiful his caramel skin was. He wore a pair of Keith's underwear and a sweater, the same crimson one he'd always steal.

"Lance?" Keith breathed, hiccuping on his own tears.

Hope had been restored. His heart thumped against his chest in excitement as Lance turned around, his sapphire eyes gleaming with happiness as he dropped the spatula onto the counter and approached Keith as he ran towards him.

"I-It's you!" Keith cried, burying his face into the comfort of Lance's shoulder as he was picked up and spun around. "It's you, it's really you—!"

He couldn't stop the relieved tears from falling as he tightly wrapped his legs around Lance's waist and sobbed into his neck. He couldn't believe it. He was truly touching Lance, seeing him in the flesh and blood for the first time, regretting all the times he'd ever doubted him.

"It's me!" Lance laughed, finally toppling over the side of the couch, enabling Keith to crawl over him and look at him in the eye. "I don't know whether you're crying out of happiness or sadness—"

"Because you terrified me!" Keith sniffed, shakily laying a hand upon Lance's freckled cheek. "I-I thought you'd gone! And you didn't answer when I got up, shit, I was so worried, you piece of shit."

Lance's smile faltered, but it returned as soon as Keith kissed him, before nuzzling his nose into the comfort of his neck. His hand laid upon his chest, smiling at Lance's clear, happy heartbeat.

"I didn't upset you too much, right?" Lance murmured, pressing his lips against Keith's forehead as he calmed down. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Keith propped himself up and wiped his cheeks.

He still couldn't understand how Lance was so attractive. His description of himself could never do him justice, and all Keith could do was count the freckles peppering his nose like a cluster of stars, hiding the galaxies within him.

"You know," Lance murmured. "I got that purple candle to remind me of your eyes whenever you left the house."

Keith's eyes widened, and he shoved his nose back in Lance's neck with a small whimper, hearing him giggle. "How are you so smooth?! What the fuck!"

"I've always been smooth," Lance snorted. "Now, are you gonna get off me, or are you gonna let the bacon burn?"

"The bacon will burn," Keith stuck out his tongue. 

Lance raised a brow. "I'm not making another batch."

Keith scrambled off Lance and walked into the kitchen, realising he didn't want to make breakfast for himself out of pure laziness, so he sat upon the counter and watched Lance pick up the spatula.

They talked like any other couple would, while Keith made a coffee and sipped it from his place on the counter. But his eyes kept falling to a small mark on Lance's wrist that seemed too colourful to be a scar or a birthmark.

"Lance," Keith swallowed his mouthful and placed the mug on the counter. "What's that on your wrist?"

Lance looked down at his wrist and tugged the sleeve up. "This?"

He turned off the gas and approached Keith so he could take a closer look. It was a small jellyfish tattoo, coloured with subtle blues and greens. Keith took Lance's wrist and looked at it in awe.

"It's kinda cute," Keith muttered.

"And here."

Lance turned his head and gently pulled the shell of his ear away, revealing a tiny seahorse.

"How were you brave enough to get those?" Keith asked. "They're sweet, but did they hurt?"

"Not really," Lance shoved his sleeve back down and distributed the bacon onto separate plates. "I used to surf back in Varadero and there was a little tattoo parlour not so far from the promenade, so I realised that I wanted a jellyfish, but my parents didn't approve when they saw it."

"But it's so tiny," Keith stepped down and followed Lance to the island table, where he climbed onto the stool. "Do you think I could get a tattoo?"

"If you wanted," Lance shrugged. "If you take me with you, I could get a matching one."

Keith hid his smile behind his sleeve as he watched Lance shovel a mouthful into his mouth, his legs swinging underneath the table.

"How do you feel?" Keith asked. He reached for Lance's hand and held it.

"Happy," he replied.

* * *

"Stop! Ow! You little bastard!" Keith laughed.

He'd underestimated Lance's strength in a feat to change the sheets from last night, and ended up getting his side slammed with a pillow. Keith was quick to pin him down and fight back, but since all attempts were useless, he let Lance take over until Keith was laughing so hard his stomach was sore.

"You can't underestimate the Pillow King, Keith!" Lance pounced on him again and rolled with him to the other side. "You are a weakling compared to me."

"Oh yeah?" Keith smirked, wrestling Lance to the bed, shifting his backside until it was upon Lance's chest. "You can't escape now."

Keith thought he'd won, but once Lance had angled his face sideways and blew a raspberry into his thigh, he was below him again, giggling like a five-year-old.

"I hate you," Keith laughed. "Come on! Get dressed."

"Why?" Lance calmed his laughter and rolled to the side of Keith. "Where are we going?"

There were so many possibilities now that Lance was truly there. He thought about his motorbike, the grocery store, his friends.

"Do you still have money?" Keith asked, sitting up. "We could go to the mall and meet my friends there."

Lance nodded with a smile. "I can look! And that's great!"

Keith was far too fond of seeing Lance in his clothes, especially when he looked so much better than him in them. In the car, Lance took advantage of Keith's playlist once again, and even journeys seemed to have a little more life in them ever since Lance returned. Keith thought about calling his family, but he didn't know whether it was too soon.

And even if it was slightly out of tune, Keith still joined in with Lance as he sung to the music playing from his speakers, hitting his fingers against the steering wheel, ignoring the confused passers-by.

"Where did you say the beach was?" Keith asked, pulling in to a car park. "Because we could go if you wanted."

Lance gasped. "Could we? And it's an hour drive."

Keith nodded and leaned over the arm rest to give Lance's lips a kiss. "We can do whatever you want to do."

So, they did exactly that, and Keith felt his heart flutter each time Lance squeezed his hand as they walked through the mall. He finally knew how much taller Lance was—even though it was a very small difference—and adored being hugged with his strong arms. He took Lance to the nearest cafe and sat in a two-person table.

"I'm so excited," Lance beamed. "I- This is so different for me, I can't thank you enough, Keith."

"Don't thank me," Keith grinned, reaching over to hold Lance's hand. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?"

Lance looked down into his mug, his lips curving into a soft smile. "Yeah."

"What would you like to do first?" Keith asked. "Buy some clothes instead of stealing mine?"

"But you love it really," Lance snickered. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind."

"Would you do a fashion show for me?"

Lance propped his head up with a hand and smirked. "If you pay me."

"How much?"

Keith raised his mug. "Enough."

"Enough?"

"Yeah," Keith took a sip. "I'll buy you ice cream or something."

"But you already bought me a coffee!" Lance whined. "Keith!"

Keith took another sip of his drink and placed it on the table before his glasses steamed up. In all honesty, he didn't care if he bought Lance things or not. He wanted him to feel as good as possible, as  _spoiled_ as possible, because Lance hadn't had this much contact for a while. He deserved it.

"Don't worry about me," Keith said. "I only spend money on myself, and it's just nice to have you here so I can buy you things."

Lance traced his index finger around the ridge of his mug. "If you say so," he mumbled.

Keith scooped up the cream applied haphazardly to his hot cocoa and smeared it over Lance's nose with a grin.

"Hey!" Lance smirked. "Just because you can see me now, it doesn't mean you abuse your advantage."

Keith chuckled, feeling his heart flourish with warmth. It felt great to see Lance smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance meets Keith's friends.

"Are you coming?"

It was still odd for Keith to hear Lance's voice without second-guessing where he was, and he was stood right there, carrying a sweater over his arm with a hopeful smile spread across his lips.

"Yeah," Keith nodded, shaking himself out of his daze.

It wasn't just odd, it was slightly exciting, because Keith had all these new possibilities and opportunities that he could wrangle with now that Lance was there. He still couldn't understand how one person could be quite so attractive; perhaps only feeling his hair when he was invisible didn't do him justice.

As he watched Lance pay, Keith sighed, an annoying little pining-sigh that he hoped would never escape his lips for  _anyone_. It felt strange to be that vulnerable to someone he put his trust in. All of his trust in. Keith's heart hammered at the thought, as if the very concept was terrifying.

Lance turned away from the cashier, causing the shop lighting to catch his sapphire eyes and make them twinkle. Keith was sure those twinkles were manifested, but then again, he had a lot of emotions churning his stomach which were purely made up. Probably. He didn't know yet.

"It's so comfortable," Lance grinned. "Thank you for taking me out, I kind of needed a new wardrobe after so long."

"It suits you," Keith nodded. "Sorry I stuffed all my dark clothes in there."

"It's  _our_  wardrobe, now," Lance snorted. "Don't you worry about it."

After they finished shopping and Keith was satisfied with Lance's level of happiness, he slid his phone out of his pocket and planned a small gathering with his friends, knowing that they'd love Lance, the real, truly-there Lance, at first sight. Somewhere meaningful. Somewhere Lance had wanted to go for a long time.

It seemed daunting. The group knew of him, of course, but Keith didn't really want to explain what he did in order to bring Lance back; it was either the sex or the sudden affection and attention, but Keith had concluded that explaining either would result in a look of disbelief from everyone.

As he helped Lance lift his bags into the car, he thought about the rest of the day and how he was going to spend it.

After all, Lance was going to be here for a long time, now, and Keith didn't want him to leave, despite their differences at the start. He had plenty of opportunities to meet friends, bring Lance to the nightclub, and fly back to his family to get back in touch. He'd ask for a phone number at some point, but right now, he wanted Lance to be happier than he'd ever been.

"I really like your car," Lance smoothed his hands over the dashboard. "You have a motorcycle too, and that's also really pretty."

"I do," Keith pushed his spectacles onto his nose and started to drive.

He had multiple lightbulb moments as he drove home with Lance at his side, singing loudly and wildly out of tune to the songs on his playlist. Once they got home, Lance didn't hesitate to bring the bags inside and start unpacking, but Keith had a different idea.

"No, no, not yet," Keith grinned. Lance dropped an orange into the fruit bowl on the counter. "We're gonna go somewhere."

At the feeling of his phone vibrating in his jeans, Keith picked it up and read the message sent from Matt, which was a very obvious and positive reaction to the plan. Keith's heart began to sing. He couldn't wait.

"Us?" Lance cocked a brow and walked his fingers up Keith's chest, his lips spreading into a grin. "Are you asking me out on a  _date?_ Because I wouldn't be surprised, and I would love that."

"Sort of." Keith smirked, swatting his hand away. "You're going to wear my helmet."

"Your... helmet?" Lance folded his arms. "Are we going go-karting? Because I'll kick your ass."

"No," Keith snorted, making sure the frozen items were stacked in the freezer before he left."

"Helmet..." Lance tapped his lip. "Skiing?"

"Do you think we get any snow? In  _summer?"_

Lance laughed. "Maybe not."

As Lance flopped down onto the couch, Keith raced upstairs with a clothing bag in his hand and took out the pairs of swim trunks within it. He hoped that Lance would enjoy the evening, even if it wasn't that expensive and he wasn't getting any major gifts. He didn't see Lance as a materialistic person and Keith didn't have the money  _for_ a materialistic person, so he crossed his fingers and stuffed the swimwear into a backpack.

"Keith!" Lance called. Keith huffed and zipped up the backpack, grabbing his motorcycle helmet from the closet.

With a brow cocked, Keith walked downstairs. "What?"

"Nothing," Lance shrugged. "Just wanted to know where you were."

"You saw me  _go upstairs—"_

The other boy gasped and reached for Keith's helmet, tucked securely beneath his arm. He offered it to him and Lance took it with excited hands, his smile wide and bright.

"Is this what you meant?" Lance beamed. "Are we riding your motorcycle?!"

Keith hoisted his backpack over one shoulder and nodded. "Yeah, that's my only helmet, so if we crash, you'll survive."

"Neat."

Lance's gaze suddenly averted to Keith in fear. 

"You don't mean that," he muttered. Keith snorted.

Once they were on the road, Keith realised that he'd missed taking advantage of empty streets and gliding across the tarmac. The weather was warm, and without a ponytail in his hair, he felt the breeze thread right through it.

With Lance's arms looped around his waist, Keith felt secure. They wound around alleyways and past lakes and forests, before reaching the promenade, and the gasp that elicited from Lance's lips made Keith feel fuzzy inside.

He hadn't visited the beach yet, but he knew Lance had by the way his waist was squeezed. The sky had changed to a rosy pink by the time they'd parked, and Lance was ecstatic, the light of the golden sunset accentuating his cheekbones and making his eyelashes glisten.

Keith knew that Lance was fond of the rain, but the smile stretching his lips definitely didn't do his excitement justice.

"Was this your idea?" he asked, linking an arm with Keith while they walked towards the sand.

"Yeah," Keith replied, scanning the shore for his friends or a significant campfire. "You said you liked the beach, and since you're here now, I guess you can go and have fun."

Lance bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair, tousled from the breeze, his eyes never leaving the glittering ocean in front of him.

 _"Keith_ , I—"

He looked down to see Keith carrying his shoes, and so he kicked his own pair off to stand in the white waves. He grinned at the feeling of cold water washing over his skin.

"Keith, I," Lance laughed. "I-I think I love you."

"I know." Keith smirked. And he did, too.

* * *

It didn't take them long to discover the group Keith had been searching for. They were gathered around a small campfire, surrounded by beach towels and umbrellas, lifting their heads as soon as Keith and Lance were in view.

"Keith!" Matt waved, his hand lowering as his gaze averted to the boy beside him. "A-Are you—"

"This was the ghost haunting my house," Keith wrapped an arm around Lance's waist once they'd made themselves comfortable. "His name is—"

"Lance, and I'm not a ghost!" Lance snorted. "I know you! You're Matt, you work with Keith, and you're Shiro, who also works with Keith."

"How did you do it?" Pidge asked, drinking her smoothie through a straw. "Did you use a Ouija board? Witchcraft?"

Lance turned to Keith and gave him a little wink. "Kind of like that. You're close."

After that, it was all greetings and hugs, and Lance was elated to talk to every single person about his family, his childhood, and his friends that he'd hope would keep in touch. He rambled about his school life and education. How he moved to now  _their_ house after a while. Lance loved to talk, and everyone listened intently—even Shiro, who was sceptical about Lance's existence in the first place.

They changed into their swimwear and got onto each other's shoulders to play around in the shallow water and Pidge didn't hesitate to shove Keith in, earning another pint for her and Hunk.

"Why me!" Keith whined, wading in the cold water, feeling Lance scoop him up once more. "I call cheating."

"Not cheating!" Hunk stuck out his tongue. "You're just awful at it."

Lance gasped. "I won chicken fight all the time when I was sixteen and I can win it now!"

"But you're not sixteen any more!" Matt called, from Shiro's shoulders. "You're gonna win at chicken, or we'll, we'll—"

"You'll skinny dip." Shiro concluded.

Keith swallowed, knowing that, as much as he  _wanted_ to see Lance naked in the ocean, it would be to the expense of his friends and have no turn-on effect at all. Boo.

"But if Keith is the one that's falling," Lance cocked a brow. "Shouldn't he be the one to skinny dip?"

"I—" Keith pouted. "No,  _no,_ I'm not—"

And thus, after rounds of him falling into the ocean, Keith kicked off his trunks and glared at Lance, who, he was sure tossed him into the water for the sake of skinny dipping and nothing more.

His friends had wandered back to the little fire, and now that the sun had dipped below the horizon, Lance stood close by with an arm around Keith's waist, looking at the stars with a tired, soft smile dancing on his lips.

"Have I said thank you yet?" Lance asked, his hand squeezing Keith's backside, which he scrunched his nose at.

"That's my ass, Lance."

"I know." Lance grinned. "But, I wanna thank you again. It's been really nice."

"You deserve it for being alone for so long, I mean," Keith shrugged. "I'm just sorry I couldn't be there for you sooner."

"Don't worry about it," Lance smiled.

Keith was wrapped up in a towel soon after, which was warm and comforting when he sat on Lance's lap. He couldn't believe how his scent appealed to him that much, and he had to admit—he loved finally seeing the smile of his new boyfriend as he laughed along to Matt's stories.

Love was never really a thing Keith was good at, but with Lance there, it was easier than he thought. Shivering from the cold water, he settled into Lance's neck and sighed.

They ended up standing at the shore once again, craving the intimate privacy that they deserved. Keith's heart thumped happily as Lance's slender fingers threaded through his hair, and his lips pressed a kiss to his forehead; Keith started to like little touches, especially now that he could see Lance doing them himself.

The rest of the group were still mingling around the campfire that struggled to stay lit, although none of them seemed to be complaining. Keith had never felt so relaxed in his life and yet he had so much more to come.

"I'm so lucky," Lance hummed, wrapping his arms around Keith with a smile. "I'll introduce you to my family as soon as I can."

"That'd be nice," Keith replied. "Do you think you're happier now?"

"Absolutely," Lance winked. "And I'm sure we have plans of our own once we get home, right?"

Keith smirked. There was no doubt about that.

"Yeah," he murmured, walking his fingers up Lance's broad chest, speckled with water droplets that glistened in the moonlight. "I'll make you work."

Lance inhaled sharply. "Oh?"

"You're putting away the rest of the groceries."

Lance's face fell, and after catching Keith's grinning lips in a kiss, he laughed.

Unsurprisingly, Keith had fallen in love with Lance's laugh far too deeply. It bubbled in his stomach whenever he heard it and now he couldn't get it out of his head.

"I guess I deserve that," Lance nodded, his eyes soft and kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh thank you so much for reading!
> 
> apologies if the ending was underwhelming, i haven't been motivated at all and i've been busier with other things, and most of all, i ran out of ideas, so i'm extremely sorry!
> 
> thank you to everyone who gave me amazing ideas and also [shklancebeefsandwich](shklancebeefsandwich.tumblr.com) for sending me the idea in the first place, and also the fanart he did, which you can find [here!](https://shklancebeefsandwich.tumblr.com/post/170830435697/happy-birthday-doubtfulbones-have-some)
> 
> again, tysm for reading, it's been fun to write this!   
> tumblr// doubtfulbones <3


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